JOHN 

BRECKEJSFRIDGE 
ELLIS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


FRAN 


"  Oh,   Abbott !     Uu   vou   mean   tliat  ?  " 


FRAN 

By 

JOHN  BRECKENRIDGE  ELLIS 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

W.  B.  KING 


INDIANAPOLIS 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1912 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS  or 

BRAUNWORTH   IL  OO. 
BOOKBINDCRS    AND    PRIN1 
BROOKLYN.    N.    V. 


TO 

MY  MOTHER 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR            .  1 

II  A  DISTURBING  LAUGH       .  5 

III  ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE 15 

IV  THE  WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  MRS.  GREGORY           .  35 
V  WE  REAP  WHAT  WE  Sow 46 

VI  MRS.  GREGORY 60 

VII  A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE 65 

VIII  WAR  DECLARED 85 

IX  SKIRMISHING 108 

X  AN  AMBUSCADE        .......  120 

XI  THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT        ....  146 

XII  GRACE  CAPTURES  THE  OUTPOSTS       ....  171 

XIII  ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT 187 

XIV  FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE    ......  204 

XV  IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY 220 

XVI  A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  ....  .254 

XVII  SHALL  THE  SECRET  BE  TOLD  ? 271 

XVIII  JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES     ...         ...  285 

XIX  THE  FIRST  VICTORY 302 

XX  THE  ENEMY  TRIUMPHS 309 

XXI  FLIGHT 325 

XXII  THE  STREET  FAIR 332 

XXIII  THE  CONQUEROR      .......  339 

XXIV  NEAR  THE  SKY  365 


FRAN 


FRAN 

v 

CHAPTER  I 

rA   KNOCK!  'AT   THE  DOOR 

TT^RAN  knocked  at  the  front  door.  It  was  too 
dark  for  her  to  find  the  bell ;  however,  had  she 
found  it,  she  would  have  knocked  just  the  same. 

At  first,  no  one  answered.  That  was  not  sur 
prising,  since  everybody  was  supposed  to  be  at 
the  Union  Camp-meeting  that  had  been  adver 
tised  for  the  last  two  months.  Of  course  it  was 
not  beyond  possibility  that  some  one  might  have 
stayed  at  home  to  invite  his  soul  instead  of  get 
ting  it  saved;  but  that  any  one  in  Littleburg  should 
go  visiting  at  half-past  eight,  and  especially  that 
any  one  should  come  knocking  at  the  door  of  this 
particular  house,  was  almost  incredible. 

No  doubt  that  is  why  the  young  woman  who  fi 
nally  opened  the  door  —  after  Fran  had  subjected 
it  to  a  second  and  more  prolonged  visitation  of  her 

i 


2  FRAN 

small  fist  —  looked  at  the  stranger  with  surprise 
which  was,  in  itself,  reproof.  Standing  in  the  dim 
light  that  reached  the  porch  from  the  hall,  Fran's 
appearance  was  not  above  suspicion.  She  looked 
very  dark,  sharp-faced,  and  small.  Her  attitude 
suggested  one  who  wanted  something  and  had 
come  to  ask  for  it.  The  lady  in  the  doorway 
believed  herself  confronted  by  a  "  camper  " —  one 
of  those  flitting  birds  of  outer  darkness  who  have 
no  religion  of  their  own,  but  who  are  always  put 
ting  that  of  others  to  the  proof. 

The  voice  from  the  doorway  was  cool,  imper 
sonal,  as  if,  by  its  very  aloofness,  it  would  push  the 
wanderer  away :  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  want  Hamilton  Gregory,"  Fran  answered 
promptly,  without  the  slightest  trace  of  embar 
rassment.  "  I'm  told  he  lives  here." 

"  Mr.  Gregory  " —  offering  the  name  with  its 
title  as  a  palpable  rebuke  — "  lives  here,  but  is  not 
at  home.  What  do  you  want,  little  girl?  " 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  Fran  asked,  undaunted. 

At  first  the  young  woman  was  tempted  to  close 
the  door  upon  the  impudent  gaze  that  never  fal 
tered  in  watching  her,  but  those  bright  unwaver 
ing  eyes,  gleaming  out  of  the  gloom  of  straw  hat 


A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR  3 

and  overshadowing  hair,  compelled  recognition 
of  some  sort. 

"  He  is  at  the  camp-meeting,"  she  answered  re 
luctantly,  irritated  at  opposition,  and  displeased 
with  herself  for  being  irritated.  "  What  do  you 
want  with  him?  I  will  attend  to  whatever  it  is. 
I  am  acquainted  with  all  of  his  affairs  —  I  am  his 
secretary." 

"  Where  is  that  camp-meeting?  How  can  I  find 
the  place  ? "  was  Fran's  quick  rejoinder.  She 
could  not  explain  the  dislike  rising  within  her. 
She  was  too  young,  herself,  to  consider  the  other's 
youth  an  advantage,  but  the  beauty  of  the  im 
perious  woman  in  the  doorway  —  why  did  it  not 
stir  her  admiration? 

Mr.  Gregory's  secretary  reflected  that,  despite  its 
seeming  improbability,  it  might  be  important  for 
him  to  see  this  queer  creature  who  came  to  strange 
doors  at  night-time. 

"If  you  will  go  straight  down  that  road  " —  she 
pointed  — "  and  keep  on  for  about  a  mile  and  a 
half,  you  will  come  to  the  big  tent.  Mr.  Gregory 
will  be  in  the  tent,  leading  the  choir." 

"  All  right."  And  turning  her  back  on  the  door, 
Fran  swiftjy  gained  the  front  steps.  Half-way 


4  FRAN 

down,  she  paused,  and  glanced  over  her  thin  shoul 
der.  Standing  thus,  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  her 
but  a  blurred  outline,  and  the  shining  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  guess,"  said  Fran  inscrutably,  "  you're  not 
Mrs.  Gregory." 

"  No,"  came  the  answer,  with  an  almost  imper 
ceptible  change  of  manner  —  a  change  as  of  gradual 
petrifaction,  "  I  am  not  Mrs.  Gregory."  And  with 
that  the  lady,  who  was  not  Mrs.  Gregory,  quietly 
but  forcibly  closed  the  door. 

It  was  as  if,  with  the  closing  of  that  door,  she 
would  have  shut  Fran  out  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  II 

A   DISTURBING   LAUGH 

A  LONG  stretch  of  wooden  sidewalks  with 
here  and  there  a  leprous  breaking  out  of 
granitoid;  a  succession  of  dwellings,  each  in  its 
yard  of  bluegrass,  maple  trees,  and  whitewashed 
palings,  with  several  residences  fine  enough  to  ex 
cite  wonder  —  for  modest  cottages  set  the  archi 
tectural  pace  in  the  village;  a  stretch  of  open 
country  beyond  the  corporate  limits,  with  a  foot 
bridge  to  span  the  deep  ravine  —  and  then,  at 
last,  a  sudden  glow  in  the  darkness  not  caused  by 
the  moon,  with  a  circle  of  stamping  and  neighing 
horses  encompassing  the  glow. 

The  sermon  was  ended,  the  exhortation  was  at 
the  point  of  loudest  voice  and  most  impassioned 
earnestness.  A  number  of  men,  most  of  them 
young,  thronged  the  'footpath  leading  ¥rom  the 
stiles  to  the  tent.  A  few  were  smoking;  all  were 
waiting  for  the  pretty  girls  to  come  forth  from 
the  Christian  camp.  Fran  pushed  her  way  among 

5 


6  FRAN 

the  idlers  with  admirable  nonchalance,  her  sharp 
elbow  ready  for  the  first  resistive  pair  of  ribs. 

The  crowd  outside  did  not  argue  a  scarcity  of 
seats  under  the  canvas.  Fran  found  a  plank 
without  a  back,  loosely  disposed,  and  entirely  un 
occupied.  She  seated  herself,  straight  as  an 
Indian,  and  with  the  air  of  being  very  much  at 
ease. 

The  scene  was  new  to  her.  More  than  a 
thousand  villagers,  ranged  along  a  natural  de 
clivity,  looked  down  upon  the  platform  of  un 
dressed  pine.  In  front  of  the  platform  men  and 
women  were  kneeling  on  the  ground.  Some  were 
bathed  in  tears;  some  were  praying  aloud;  some 
were  talking  to  those  who  stood,  or  knelt  beside 
them;  some  were  clasping  convulsive  hands;  all 
were  oblivious  of  surroundings. 

Occasionally  one  heard  above  the  stentorian 
voice  of  the  exhorter,  above  the  prayers  and  ex 
clamations  of  the  "  seekers ",  a  sudden  shout  of 
exultation  — "  Bless  the  Lord !  "  or  a  rapturous 
"  A-a-~M.ET$ !  "  Then  a  kneeling  figure  would  rise, 
and  the  exhorter  would  break  off  his  plea  to  cry, 
"  Our  brother  has  found  the  Lord !  " 

From  the  hundred  members  of  the  choir,  Fran 


A  DISTURBING  LAUGH  7 

singled  out  the  man  she  had  been  seeking  for  so 
many  years.  It  was  easy  enough  to  distinguish 
him  from  the  singers  who  crowded  the  platform, 
not  only  by  his  baton  which  proclaimed  the  choir- 
leader,  but  by  his  resemblace  to  the  picture  she 
had  discovered  in  a  New  York  Sunday  Supplement. 

Hamilton  Gregory  was  clean-shaved  except  for 
a  silken  reddish  mustache;  his  complexion  was 
fair,  his  hair  a  shade  between  red  and  brown,  his 
eyes  blue.  His  finely  marked  face  and  striking 
bearing  were  stamped  with  distinction  and  grace. 

It  was  strange  to  Fran  that  he  did  not  once 
glance  in  her  direction.  True,  there  was  nothing 
in  her  appearance  to  excite  especial  attention,  but 
she  had  looked  forward  to  meeting  him  ever  since 
she  could  remember.  Now  that  her  eyes  were 
fastened  on  his  face,  now  that  they  were  so  near, 
sheltered  by  a  common  roof,  how  could  he  help 
feeling  her  presence? 

The  choir-leader  rose  and  lifted  his  baton.  At 
his  back  the  hundred  men  and  women  obeyed  the 
signal,  while  hymn-books  fluttered  open  throughout 
the  congregation.  Suddenly  the  leader  of  the 
choir  started  into  galvanic  life.  He  led  the  song 
with  his  sweet  voice,  his  swaying  body,  his  frantic 


8  FRAN 

baton,  his  wild  arms,  his  imperious  feet.  With  all 
that  there  was  of  him,  he  conducted  the  melodious 
charge  up  the  ramparts  of  sin  and  indifference. 
If  in  repose,  Fran  had  thought  him  singularly 
handsome  and  attractive,  she  now  found  him  in 
spiring.  His  blue  eyes  burned  with  exaltation 
while  his  magic  voice  seemed  to  thrill  with  more 
than  human  ecstasy.  The  strong,  slim,  white  hand 
tensely  grasping  the  baton,  was  the  hand  of  a 
powerful  chieftain  wielded  in  behalf  of  the  God 
of  Battles. 

On  the  left,  the  heavy  bass  was  singing, 

"  One  thing  we  know, 
Wherever  we  go  — 
We  reap  what  we  sow, 
We  reap  what  we  sow." 

While  these  words  were  being  doled  out  at  long 
and  impressive  intervals,  like  the  tolling  of  a 
heavy  bell,  more  than  half  a  hundred  soprano 
voices  were  hastily  getting  in  their  requisite  num 
ber  of  half  notes,  thus  — 

"  So  scatter  little,  scatter  little,  scatter  little,  scatter 

little, 
Scatter  little  seeds  of  kindness." 


A  DISTURBING  LAUGH  9 

In  spite  of  the  vast  volume  of  sound  produced 
by  these  voices,  as  well  as  by  the  accompaniment 
of  two  pianos  and  a  snare-drum,  the  voice  of 
Hamilton  Gregory,  soaring  flute-like  toward 
heaven,  seemed  to  dart  through  the  interstices  of 
"  rests  ",  to  thread  its  slender  way  along  infinitesi 
mal  crevices  of  silence.  One  might  have  sup 
posed  that  the  booming  bass,  the  eager  chattering 
soprano,  the  tenor  with  its  thin  crust  of  upper 
layers,  and  the  throaty  fillings  of  the  alto,  could 
have  left  no  vantage  points  for  an  obligate. 
Yet  it  was  Hamilton  Gregory's  voice  that  bound 
all  together  in  divine  unity.  As  one  listened,  it 
was  the  inspired  truth  as  uttered  by  Hamilton 
Gregory  that  brought  the  message  home  to  con 
science.  As  if  one  had  never  before  been  told  that 
one  reaps  what  one  sows,  uneasy  memory  started 
out  of  hidden  places  with  its  whisper  of  seed  sown 
amiss.  Tears  rose  to  many  eyes,  and  smothered 
sobs  betrayed  intense  emotion. 

Of  those  who  were  not  in  the  least  affected, 
Fran  was  one.  She  saw  and  heard  Hamilton 
Gregory's  impassioned  earnestness,  and  divined 
his  yearning  to  touch  many  hearts;  nor  did  she 
doubt  that  he  would  then  and  there  have  given 


io  FRAN 

his  life  to  press  home  upon  the  erring  that  they 
must  ultimately  reap  what  they  were  sowing. 
Nevertheless  she  was  altogether  unmoved.  It 
would  have  been  easier  for  her  to  laugh  than  to 
cry. 

Although  the  preacher  had  ceased  his  exhorta 
tions  for  the  singing  of  the  evangelistic  hymn,  he 
was  by  no  means  at  the  end  of  his  resources. 
Standing  at  the  margin  of  the  platform,  looking 
out  on  the  congregation,  he  slowly  moved  back 
and  forth  his  magnetic  arms  in  parallel  lines. 
Without  turning  his  body,  it  was  as  if  he  were 
cautiously  sweeping  aside  the  invisible  curtain  of 
doubt  that  swung  between  the  unsaved  and  the 
altar.  '  This  way,"  he  seemed  to  say.  "  Follow 
my  hands." 

Not  one  word  did  he  speak.  Even  between  the 
verses,  when  he  might  have  striven  against  the 
pianos  and  the  snare-drum,  he  maintained  his  ter 
rible  silence.  But  as  he  fixed  his  ardent  eyes  upon 
space,  as  he  moved  those  impelling  arms,  a  man 
would  rise  here,  a  woman  start  up  there  —  re 
luctantly,  or  eagerly,  the  unsaved  would  press  their 
way  to  the  group  kneeling  at  the  front.  Prayers 
and  groans  rose  louder.  Jubilant  shouts  of  re- 


A  DISTURBING  LAUGH  n 

ligious    victory   were    more    frequent.     One    could 
now  hardly  hear  the  choir  as  it  insisted  — 

"  We  reap  what  we  sow, 
We  reap  what  we  sow." 

Suddenly  the  evangelist  smote  his  hands  to 
gether,  a  signal  for  song  and  prayer  to  cease. 

Having  obtained  a  silence  that  was  breathless 
he  leaned  over  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and  ad 
dressed  a  man  who  knelt  upon  the  ground : 

"  Brother  Clinton,  can't  you  get  it  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

:'  You've  been  kneeling  there  night  after 
night,"  the  evangelist  continued;  "don't  you  feel 
that  the  Lord  loves  you?  Can't  you  feel  it? 
Can't  you  feel  it  now?  Can't  you  get  it?  Can't 
you  get  it  now?  Brother  Clinton,  I  want  you  to  get 
through  before  these  revival  services  close.  They 
close  this  night.  I  go  away  to-morrow.  This 
may  be  your  last  opportunity.  I  want  you  to  get 
it  now.  All  these  waiting  friends  want  you  to 
get  it  now.  All  these  praying  neighbors  want  to 
see  you  get  it.  Can't  you  get  through  to-night,? 
Just  quietly  here,  without  any  excitement,  without 
any  noise  or  tumult,  just  you  and  your  soul  alone 


12  FRAN 

together  —  Brother  Clinton,  can't  you  get  through 
to-night?"  • 

Brother  Clinton  shook  his  head. 

Fran  laughed  aloud. 

The  evangelist  had  already  turned  to  Hamilton 
Gregory  as  a  signal  for  the  hymn  to  be  resumed, 
for  sometimes  singing  helped  them  "  through ", 
but  the  sound  of  irreverent  laughter  chilled  his 
blood.  To  his  highly  wrought  emotional  nature, 
that  sound  of  mirth  came  as  the  laughter  of  fiends 
over  the  tragedy  of  an  immortal  soul. 

"  Several  times,"  he  cried,  with  whitened  face, 
"  these  services  have  been  disturbed  by  the  un 
godly."  He  pointed  an  inflexible  finger  at  Fran : 
:'  Yonder  sits  a  little  girl  who  should  not  have  been 
allowed  in  this  tent  unaccompanied  by  her  parents. 
Brethren!  Too  much  is  at  stake,  at  moments  like 
these,  to  shrink  from  heroic  measures.  Souls  are 
here,  waiting  to.  be  saved.  Let  that  little  girl  be 
removed.  Where  are  the  ushers?  I  hope  she 
will  go  without  disturbance,  but  go  she  shall ! 
Now,  Brother  Gregory,  sing." 

The  corps  of  ushers  had  been  sadly  depleted 
by  the  young  men's  inclination  to  bivouac  outside, 
where  one  could  see  without  being  obliged  to  hear. 


A  DISTURBING  LAUGH  13 

As  the  song  swept  over  the  worshipers  in  a  wave 
of  pleading,  such  ushers  as  still  remained,  held  a 
brief  consultation.  The  task  assigned  them  did 
not  seem  included  in  their  proper  functions.  Only 
one  could  be  found  to  volunteer  as  policeman,  and 
he  only  because  the  evangelist's  determined  eye  and 
rigid  arm  had  never  ceased  to  indicate  the  dis 
turber  of  the  peace. 

Fran  was  furious;  her  small  white  face  seemed 
cut  in  stone  as  she  stared  at  the  evangelist.  How 
could  she  have  known  she  was  going  to  laugh? 
Her  tumultuous  emotions,  inspired  by  the  sight  of 
Hamilton  Gregory,  might  well  have  found  expres 
sion  in  some  other  way.  That  laugh  had  been  as 
a  darting  of  tongue-flame  directed  against  the 
armored  Christian  soldier  whose  face  was  so  spir 
itually  beautiful,  whose  voice  was  so  eloquent. 

Fran  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  man  pausing  ir 
resolutely  at  the  end  of  the  plank  that  held  her 
erect.  Without  turning  her  head,  she  asked  in  a 
rather  spiteful  voice,  "  Are  you  the  sheriff?  " 

He  spoke  with  conciliatory  persuasiveness: 
"  Won't  you  go  with  me,  little  girl  ?  " 

Fran  turned  impatiently  to  glare  at  the  usher. 

He  was  a  fine  young  fellow  of  perhaps  twenty- 


*4  FRAN 

four,  tall  and  straight,  clean  ancf  wholesome. 
His  eyes  were  sincere  and  earnest  yet  they 
promised  much  in  the  way  of  sunny  smiles  —  at 
the  proper  time  and  place.  His  mouth  was 
frank,  his  forehead  open,  his  shoulders  broad. 

Fran  rose  as  swiftly  as  if  a  giant  hand  had  lifted 
her  to  her  feet.  "  Come  on,  then,"  she  said  in  a  tone 
somewhat  smothered.  She  climbed  over  the 
"  stringer  "  at  the  end  of  her  plank,  and  marched 
behind  the  young  man  as  if  oblivious  of  devouring 
eyes.  The  men  at  the  tent-entrance  scurried  out 
of  the  way,  scattering  the  shavings  and  sawdust 
that  lined  the  path. 

As  they  passed  the  last  pole  that  supported  a 
gasolene-burner,  Fran  ,glanced  up  shyly  from  under 
her  broad  hat.  The  light  burned  red  upon  the 
young  usher's  face,  and  there  was  something  in 
the  crimson  glow,  or  in  the  face,  that  made  her 
feel  like  crying,  just  because  —  or  so  she  fancied 
—  it  revived  the  recollection  of  her  loneliness. 
And  as  she  usually  did  what  she  felt  like  doing, 
she  cried,  silently,  as  she  followed  the  young  man 
out  beneath  the  stars. 


CHAPTER  III 

ON    THE   FOOT-BRIDGE 

/~|~"SO  the  young  usher,  the  change  of  scene  was 
rather  bewildering.  His  eyes  were  still 
full  of  the  light  from  gasolene-burners,  his  ears 
still  rang  with  the  confusion  of  tent-noise  into 
which  entered  the  prolonged  monotones  of  inarticu 
late  groanings,  and  the  explosive  suddenness  of 
seemingly  irrelevant  Amers.  Above  all,  he  tingled 
from  the  electric  atmosphere  of  intense  religious 
excitement;  he  was  charged  with  currents  at  a 
pressure  so  high  that  his  nerves  were  unresponsive 
to  dull  details  of  ordinary  life. 

Nothing  just  then  mattered  except  the  saving  of 
souls.  Having  faithfully  attended  the  camp-meet 
ing  for  three  weeks  he  found  other  interests 
blotted  out.  The  village  as  a  whole  had  given 
itself  over  to  religious  ecstasy.  Those  who  had 
professed  their  faith  left  no  stone  unturned  in  lead 
ing  others  to  the  altar,  as  if  life  could  not  resume 


16  FRAN 

its  routine  until  the  unconverted  were  brought  to 
kneel  at  the  evangelist's  feet. 

As  Abbott  Ashton  reflected  that,  because  of  this 
young  girl  with  the  mocking  laugh,  he  was  losing 
the  climacteric  expression  of  the  three-weeks' 
campaign,  his  displeasure  grew.  Within  him  was 
an  undefined  thought  vibration  akin  to  surprise, 
caused  by  the  serenity  of  the  hushed  sky.  Was  it 
not  incongruous  that  the  heavens  should  be  so 
peaceful  with  their  quiet  star-beacons,  while  man 
was  exerting  himself  to  the  utmost  of  gesture  and 
noise  to  glorify  the  Maker  of  that  calm  canopy? 
From  the  weather-stained  canvas  rolled  the  warn 
ing,  not  unmusically : 

"  We  reap  what  we  sow, 
We  reap  what  we  sow." 

Above  the  tide  of  melody,  the  voice  of  the  evan 
gelist  rose  in  a  scream,  appalling  in  its  agony  - 
"  Oh,   men   and   women,    why   ivill  you   die,   why 
will  you  die?" 

But  the  stars,  looking  down  at  the  silent  earth, 
spoke  not  of  death,  spoke  only  as  stars,  seeming 
to  say,  "  Here  are  April  days,  dear  old  earth, 
balmy  springtime  and  summer  harvest  before  us! 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  17 

-  What  merry  nights  we  shall  pass  together !  " 
The  earth  answered  with  a  sudden  white  smile,  for 
the  moon  had  just  risen  above  the  distant  woods. 

At  the  stile  where  the  footpath  from  the  tent 
ended,  Abbott  paused.  Why  should  he  go  farther  ? 
This  scoffer,  the  one  false  note  in  the  meeting's 
harmony,  had  been  silenced.  "  There,"  he  said, 
showing  the  road.  His  tone  was  final.  It 
meant,  "  Depart." 

Fran  spoke  in  a  choking  voice,  "  I'm  afraid." 
It  was  not  until  then,  that  he  knew  she  had  been 
crying,  for  not  once  had  he  looked  back.  That 
she  should  cry,  changed  everything.  And  no 
wonder  she  was  afraid.  To  the  fences  on  either 
side  of  the  country  road,  horses  and  mules  were 
tethered.  Torch-lights  cast  weird  shadows.  Here 
and  there  lounged  dimly  some  fellow  who  pre 
ferred  the  society  of  side-kicking,  shrilly  neighing 
horses,  to  the  suing  melody  of  soul-seekers. 

"  But  I  must  go  back  to  the  tent,"  said  the 
usher  softly,  not  surprised  that  a  little  girl  should 
be  afraid  to  venture  among  these  vague  terrors. 

"  I  am  so  little,"  Fran  said  plaintively,  "  and  the 
world  is  so  large." 

Abbott  stood  irresolute.     To  take  Fran  back  t<? 


i8  FRAN 

the  tent  would  destroy  the  Influence,  but  it  seemed 
inhuman  to  send  her  away.  He  temporized  rather 
weakly,  "  But  you  came  here  alone." 

"  But  I'm  not  going  away  alone,"  said  Fran. 
Her  voice  was  still  damp,  but  she  had  kept  her 
resolution  dry. 

In  the  gloom,  he  vainly  sought  to  discern  her 
features.  "  Whose  little  girl  are  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
not  without  an  accent  of  gentle  commiseration. 

Fran,  one  foot  on  the  first  step  of  the  stile, 
looked  up  at  him;  the  sudden  flare  of  a  torch  re 
vealed  the  sorrow  in  her  eyes.  "  I  am  nobody's 
little  girl,"  she  answered  plaintively. 

Her  eyes  were  so  large,  and  so  soft  and  dark, 
that  Abbott  was  glad  she  was  only  a  child  of  four 
teen  —  or  fifteen,  perhaps.  Her  face  was  so 
strangely  eloquent  in  its  yearning  for  something 
quite  beyond  his  comprehension,  that  he  decided, 
then  and  there,  to  be  her  friend.  The  unsteady 
light  prevented  definite  perception  of  her  face. 
He  noted  that  her  legs  were  thin,  her  arms  long, 
her  body  slight,  though  there,  was  a  faint  sugges 
tion  of  curving  outline  of  hips  and  bosom  that 
lent  an  effect  of  charm. 

There  was,   in   truth,   an  element  of  charm   in 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  19 

all  he  could  discern.  Even  the  thin  limbs  ap 
pealed  to  him  oddly.  Possibly  the  big  hat  helped 
"to  conceal  or  accentuate  —  at  any  rate,  the  effect 
was  somewhat  elfish.  As  for  those  great  and 
luminously  soft  black  eyes,  he  could  not  for  the 
life  of  him  have  said  what  he  saw  in  them  to  set 
his  blood  tingling  with  feeling  of  protecting  ten 
derness.  Possibly  it  was  her  trust  in  him,  for  as 
he  gazed  into  the  earnest  eyes  of  Fran,  it  was 
like  looking  into  a  clear  pool  to  see  oneself. 

"Nobody's  little  girl?"  he  repeated,  inexpress 
ibly  touched  that  it  should  be  so.  What  a  treasure 
somebody  was  denied!  "Are  you  a  stranger  in 
the  town?" 

"  Never  been  here  before,"  Fran  answered 
mournfully. 

"But  why  did  you  come?" 

"  I  came  to  find  Hamilton  Gregory." 

The  young  man  was  astonished.  "  Didn't  you 
see  him  in  the  tent,  leading  the  choir?  " 

"  He  has  a  house  in  town,"  Fran  said  timidly. 
"  I  don't  want  to  bother  him  while  he  is  in  his 
religion.  I  want  to  wait  for  him  at  his  house. 
Oh,"  she  added  earnestly,  "  if  you  would  only 
show  me  the  way." 


20  FRAN 

Just  as  if  she  did  not  know  the  way! 

Abbott  Ashton  was  now  completely  at  her  mercy. 
"So  you  know  Brother  Gregory,  do  you?"  he 
asked,  as  he  led  her  over  the  stiles  and  down  the 
wagon-road. 

"  Never  saw  him  in  my  life,"  Fran  replied 
casually.  She  knew  how  to  say  it  prohibitively, 
but  she  purposely  left  the  bars  down,  to  find  out 
if  the  young  man  was  what  she  hoped. 

And  he  was.  He  did  not  ask  a  question.  They 
sought  the  grass-grown  path  bordering  the  dusty 
road;  as  they  ascended  the  hill  that  shut  out  a 
view  of  the  village,  to  their  ears  came  the 
sprightly,  Twentieth  Century  hymn.  What  change 
had  come  over  Ashton  that  the  song  now  seemed 
as  strangely  out  of  keeping  as  had  the  peaceful- 
ness  of  the  April  night,  when  he  first  left  the 
tent?  He  felt  the  prick  of  remorse  because  in  the 
midst  of  nature,  he  had  so  soon  forgotten  about 
souls. 

Fran  caught  the  air  and  softly  sang — "  We  reap 
what  we  sow — " 

"Don't!"  he  reproved  her.  "Child,  that 
means  nothing  to  you." 

"  Yes,    it   does,   too,"    she   returned,    rather   im- 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  21 

pudently.  She  continued  to  sing  and  hum  until 
the  last  note  was  smothered  in  her  little  nose. 
Then  she  spoke:  "However — it  means  a  dif 
ferent  thing  to  me  from  what  it  means  to  the 
choir." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "How  different?" 
he  smiled. 

"  To  me,  it  means  that  we  really  do  reap  what 
we  sow,  and  that  if  we've  done  something 
very  wrong  in  the  past  —  ugh!  Better  look  out 
—  trouble's  coming.  That's  what  the  song  means 
to  me." 

"  And  will  you  kindly  tell  me  what  it  means  to 
the  choir?" 

'  Yes,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  means  to  the  choir. 
It  means  sitting  on  benches  and  singing,  after  a 
sermon ;  and  it  means  a  tent,  and  a  great  evangelist 
and  a  celebrated  soloist  —  and  then  going  home 
to  act  as  if  it  wasn't  so." 

Abbott  was  not  only  astonished,  but  pained. 
Suddenly  he  had  lost  "  Nobody's  little  girl  ",  to  be 
confronted  by  an  elfish  spirit  of  mischief.  He 
asked  with  constraint,  "  Did  this  critical  attitude 
make  you  laugh  out,  in  the  tent?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  tell  you  why  I  laughed,"  Fran  de- 


22  FRAN 

clared,  "  for  a  thousand  dollars.  And  I've  seen 
more  than  that  in  my  day." 

They  walked  on.  He  was  silent,  she  impene 
trable.  At  last  she  said,  in  a  changed  voice,  "  My 
name's  Fran.  What's  yours  ?  " 

He  laughed  boyishly.     "  Mine's  Abbott." 

His  manner  made  her  laugh  sympathetically. 
It  was  just  the  manner  she  liked  best  —  gay, 
frank,  and  a  little  mischievous.  "Abbott?"  she 
repeated ;  "  well  —  is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Ashton  is  the  balance ;  Abbott  Ashton.  And 
yours?  " 

'  The  rest  of  mine  is  Nonpareil  —  funny  name, 
isn't  it !  —  Fran  Nonpareil.  It  means  Fran,  the 
small  type;  or  Fran  who's  unlike  everybody  else; 
or—  Oh,  there  are  lots  of  meanings  to  me. 
Some  find  one,  some  another,  some  never  under 
stand." 

It  was  because  Abbott  Ashton  was  touched,  that 
he  spoke  lightly: 

"  What  a  very  young  Nonpareil  to  be  wandering 
about  the  world,  all  by  yourself!" 

She  was  grateful  for  his  raillery.  "  How 
young  do  you  think?  " 

"Let   me   see.     Hum!     You   are   only  —  about 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  23 

She  laughed  mirthfully  at  his  air  of  prepos 
terous  wisdom.  "  About  thirteen  —  'fourteen, 
yes,  you  are  more  than  fi-i-ifteen,  more  than 
.  .  .  But  take  off  that  enormous  hat,  little 
Nonpareil.  There's  no  use  guessing  in  the  dark 
when  the  moon's  shining." 

Fran  was  gleeful.  "  All  right,"  she  cried  in 
one  of  her  childish  tones,  shrill,  fresh,  vibratory 
with  the  music  of  innocence. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  foot-bridge 
that  spanned  the  deep  ravine.  Here  the  wagon- 
road  made  its  crossing  of  a  tiny  stream,  by  slip 
ping  under  the  foot-bridge,  some  fifteen  feet 
below.  Down  there,  all  was  semi-gloom,  pungent 
fragrance  of  weeds,  cooling  breath  of  the  half- 
dried  brook,  mystery  of  space  between  steep 
banks.  But  on  a  level  with  the  bridge,  meadow- 
lands  sloped  away  from  the  ravine  on  either  hand. 
On  the  left  lay  straggling  Littleburg  with  its 
four  or  five  hundred  houses,  faintly  twinkling,  and 
beyond  the  meadows  on  the  right,  a  fringe  of  woods 
started  up  as  if  it  did  not  belong  there,  but  had 
come  to  be  seen,  while  above  the  woods  swung  the 
big  moon  with  Fran  on  the  foot-bridge  to  shine 
for. 


24  FRAN 

Fran's  hat  dangled  idly  in  her  hand  as  she 
drew  herself  with  backward  movement  upon  the 
railing.  The  moonlight  was  full  upon  her  face; 
so  was  the  young  man's  gaze.  One  of  her  feet 
found,  after  leisurely  exploration,  a  down-slant 
ing  board  upon  the  edge  of  which  she  pressed 
her  heel  for  support.  The  other  foot  swayed  to 
and  fro  above  the  flooring,  while  a  little  hand  on 
either  side  of  her  gripped  the  top  rail. 

"  Here  I  am,"  she  said,  shaking  back  rebellious 
hair. 

Abbott  Ashton  studied  her  with  grave  delibera 
tion  —  it  is  doubtful  if  he  had  ever  before  so 
thoroughly  enjoyed  his  duties  as  usher.  He  pro 
nounced  judicially,  "  You  are  older  than  you  look." 

"  Yes,"  Fran  explained,  "  my  experience  ac 
counts  for  that.  I've  had  lots." 

Abbott's  lingering  here  beneath  the  moon  when 
he  should  have  been  hurrying  back  to  the  tent, 
showed  how  unequally  the  good  things  of  life  — 
experience,  for  instance  —  are  divided.  ;'  You 
are  sixteen,"  he  hazarded,  conscious  of  a  strange 
exhilaration. 

Fran  dodged  the  issue  behind  a  smile  — "  And 
I  don't  think  you  are  so  awfully  old." 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  25 

Abbott  was  brought  to  himself  with  a  jolt  that 
threw  him  hard  upon  self-consciousness.  "  I  am 
superintendent  of  the  public  school."  The  very 
sound  of  the  words  rang  as  a  warning,  and  he  be 
came  preternaturally  solemn. 

"Goodness!"  cried  Fran,  considering  his  grave 
mouth  and  thoughtful  eyes,  "  does  it  hurt  that 
bad?" 

Abbott  smiled.  All  the  same,  the  position  of 
superintendent  must  not  be  bartered  away  for  the 
transitory  pleasures  of  a  foot-bridge.  "  We  had 
better  hurry,  if  you  please,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  I  am  so  afraid  of  you,"  murmured  Fran. 
"  But  I  know  the  meeting  will  last  a  long  time  yet. 
I'd  hate  to  have  to  wait  long  at  Mr.  Gregory's 
with  that  disagreeable  lady  who  isn't  Mrs.  Greg 
ory." 

Abbott  was  startled.  Why  did  she  thus  desig 
nate  Mr.  Gregory's  secretary?  He  Looked  keenly 
at  Fran,  but  she  only  said  plaintively: 

"  Can't  we  stay  here?  " 

He  was  disturbed  and  perplexed.  It  was  as  if 
a  flitting  shadow  from  some  unformed  cloud  of 
thought-mist  had  fallen  upon  the  every-day  world 
out  of  his  subconsciousness.  Why  did  this 


26  FRAN 

stranger  speak  of  Miss  Grace  Noir  as  the  "  lady 
who  isn't  Mrs.  Gregory "  ?  The  young  man  at 
times  had  caught  himself  thinking  of  her  in  just 
that  way. 

Looking  intently  at  the  other  as  if  to  divine  her 
secret  thoughts,  he  forgot  momentarily  his  uneasi 
ness.  One  could  not  long  be  troubled  by  thought- 
mists  from  subconsciousness,  when  looking  at 
Fran,  for  Fran  was  a  fact.  He  sighed  involun 
tarily.  She  was  such  a  fact! 

Perhaps  she  wasn't  really  pretty  —  but  homely? 
by  no  means.  Her  thin  face  slanted  to  a  sharp 
ened  chin.  Her  hair,  drawn  to  the  corner  of 
either  eye,  left  a  white  triangle  whose  apex  pointed 
to  the  highest  reach  of  the  forehead.  Thus  the 
face,  in  all  its  contour,  was  rising,  or  falling,  to  a 
point.  This  sharpness  of  feature  was  in  her  very 
laugh  itself;  while  in  that  hair-encircled  oval  was 
the  light  of  elfish  mockery,  but  of  no  human  joy. 

School  superintendents  do  not  enjoy  being  mys 
tified.  "Really,"  Abbott  declared  abruptly,  "I 
must  go  back  to  the  meeting." 

Fran  had  heard  enough  about  his  leaving  her. 
She  decided  to  stop  that  once  and  for  all.  "  If  you 
go  back,  I  go,  too !  "  she  said  conclusively.  She 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  27 

gave  him  a  look  to  show  that  she  meant  it,  then  be 
came  all  humility. 

"  Please  don't  be  cross  with  little  Nonpareil,"  she 
coaxed.  "  Please  don't  want  to  go  back  to  that 
meeting.  Please  don't  want  to  leave  me.  You 
are  so  learned  and  old  and  so  strong  —  you  don't 
care  why  a  little  girl  laughs." 

Fran  tilted  her  head  sidewise,  and  the  glance 
of  her  eyes  proved  irresistible.  "  But  tell  me  about 
Mr.  Gregory,"  she  pleaded,  "  and  don't  mind  my 
ways.  Ever  since  mother  died,  I've  found  nothing 
in  this  world  but  love  that  was  for  somebody  else, 
and  trouble  that  was  for  me." 

The  pathetic  cadence  of  the  slender-throated 
tones  moved  Abbott  more  than  he  cared  to  show. 

"  If  you're  in  trouble,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you've 
sought  the  right  helper  in  Mr.  Gregory.  He's  the 
richest  man  in  the  county,  yet  lives  so  simply,  so 
frugally  —  they  keep  few  servants  —  and  all  be 
cause  he  wants  to  do  good  with  his  money." 

"  I  guess  his  secretary  is  considerable  help  to 
him,'"'  Fran  observed. 

"  I  don't  know  how  he'd  carry  on  his  great  work 
without  her.  I  think  Mr.  Gregory  is  one  of  the 
best  men  that  ever  lived." 


28  FRAN 

Fran  asked  with  simplicity,  "  Great  church 
worker?  " 

"  He's  as  good  as  he  is  rich.  He  never  misses 
a  service.  I  can't  give  the  time  to  it  that  he  does  — 
to  the  church,  I  mean ;  I  have  the  ambition  to  hold, 
one  day,  a  chair  at  Yale  or  Harvard  —  that  means 
to  teach  in  a  university — "  he  broke  off,  in  ex 
planation. 

Fran  held  out  her  swinging  foot,  and  examined 
the  dusty  shoe.  "  Oh,"  she  said  in  a  relieved  tone, 
"  I  was  afraid  it  meant  to  sit  down  all  the  time. 
Lots  of  people  are  ambitious  not  to  move  if  they 
can  help  it." 

He  looked  at  her  a  little  uncertainly,  then  went 
on:  "  So  it  keeps  me  studying  hard,  to  fit  myself 
for  the  future.  I  hope  to  be  reflected  superin 
tendent  in  Littleburg  again  next  year, —  this  is  my 
first  term  —  there  is  so  much  time  to  study,  in 
Littleburg.  After  next  year,  I'll  try  for  some 
thing  bigger;  just  keep  working  my  way  up 
and  up — " 

He  had  not  meant  to  tell  her  about  himself,  but 
Fran's  manner  of  lifting  her  head  to  look  at  him, 
as  he  finished  each  phrase,  had  beguiled  him  to  the 
next.  The  applause  in  her  eyes  warmed  his  heart. 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  29 

"  You  see,"  said  Abbott  with  a  deprecatory  smile, 
"  I  want  to  make  myself  felt  in  the  world." 

Fran's  eyes  shone  with  an  unspoken  "  Hurrah !  " 
and  as  he  met  her  gaze,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure 
from  the  impression  that  he  was  what  she  wanted 
him  to  be. 

Fran  allowed  his  soul  to  bathe  a  while  in  divine 
eye-beams  of  flattering  approval,  then  gave  him  a 
little  sting  to  bring  him  to  life.  "  You  are  pretty 
old,  not  to  be  married,"  she  remarked.  "  I  hope 
you  won't  find  some  woman  to  put  an  end  to  your 
high  intentions,  but  men  generally  do.  Men  fall  in 
love,  and  when  they  finally  pull  themselves  out, 
they've  lost  sight  of  the  shore  they  were  headed 
for." 

A  slight  color  stole  to  Abbott's  face.  In  fact, 
he  was  rather  hard  hit.  This  wandering  child  was 
no  doubt  a  witch.  He  looked  in  the  direction  of 
the  tent,  as  if  to  escape  the  weaving  of  her  magic. 
But  he  only  said,  "  That  sounds  —  er  —  practi 
cal." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fran,  wondering  who  "  the  woman  " 
was,  "  if  you  can't  be  practical,  there's  no  use  to 
be.  Well,  I  can  see  you  now,  at  the  head  of  some 
university  —  you'll  make  it,  because  you're  so  much 


30  FRAN 

like  me.  Why,  when  they  first  began  teaching  me 
to  feed  —  Good  gracious !  What  am  I  talking 
about?"  She  hurried  on,  as  if  to  cover  her  con 
fusion.  "  But  I  haven't  got  as  far  in  books  as 
you  have,  so  I'm  not  religious." 

"  Books  aren't  religion,"  he  remonstrated,  then 
added  with  unnecessary  gentleness,  "  Little  Non 
pareil  !  What  an  idea !  " 

"  Yes,  books  are,"  retorted  Fran,  shaking  back 
her  hair,  swinging  her  foot,  and  twisting  her  body 
impatiently.  "  That's  the  only  kind  of  religion  I 
know  anything  about  —  just  books,  just  doctrines ; 
what  you  ought  to  believe  and  how  you  ought  to 
act  —  all  nicely  printed  and  bound  between  covers. 
Did  you  ever  meet  any  religion  outside  of  a  book, 
moving  up  and  down,  going  about  in  the  open?  " 

He  answered  in  perfect  confidence,  "  Mr.  Greg 
ory  lives  his  religion  daily  —  the  kind  that  helps 
people,  that  makes  the  unfortunate  happy." 

Fran  was  not  hopeful.  "  Well,  I've  come  all 
the  way  from  New  York  to  see  him.  I  hope  he 
can  make  me  happy.  I'm  certainly  unfortunate 
enough.  I've  got  all  the  elements  he  needs  to 
work  on." 

"  From  New  York !  "     He  considered  the  deli- 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  31 

cate  form,  the  youthful  face,  and  whistled.  "  Will 
you  please  tell  me  where  your  home  is,  Nonpa 
reil?" 

She  waved  her  arm  inclusively.  "  America.  I 
\vish  it  were  concentrated  in  some  spot,  but  it's 
just  spread  out  thin  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 
My  country's  about  all  I  have."  She  broke  off 
with  a  catch  in  her  voice  —  she  tried  to  laugh,  but 
it  was  no  use. 

The  high  moon  which  had  been  obscured  by  gath 
ering  cloud  banks,  found  an  opening  high  above 
the  fringe  of  woods,  and  cast  a  shining  glow  upon 
her  face,  and  touched  her  figure  as  with  silver 
braid.  Out  of  this  light  looked  Fran's  eyes  as 
dark  as  deepest  shadows,  and  out  of  the  unfathom 
able  depths  of  her  eyes  glided  two  tears  as  pure  as 
their  source  in  her  heart. 

Suddenly  it  came  to  Abbott  Ashton  that  he  un 
derstood  the  language  of  moon,  watching  woods, 
meadow-lands,  even  the  gathering  rain-clouds;  all 
spoke  of  the  universal  brotherhood  of  man  with 
nature ;  a  brotherhood  including  the  most  ambitious 
superintendent  of  schools  and  a  homeless  Nonpa 
reil;  a  brotherhood  to  be  confirmed  by  the  clasping 
of  sincere  hands.  There  was  danger  in  such  a  con- 


32  FRAN 

formation,  for  it  carried  Abbott  beyond  the  limits 
that  mark  a  superintendent's  confines. 

As  he  stood  on  the  bridge,  holding  Fran's  hand 
in  a  warm  and  sympathetic  pressure,  he  was  not 
unlike  one  on  picket-service  who  slips'  over  the 
trenches  to  hold  friendly  parley  with  the  enemy. 
Abbott  did  not  know  there  was  any  danger  in  this 
brotherly  handclasp;  but  that  was  because  he  could 
not  see  a  fleshy  and  elderly  lady  slowly  coming 
down  the  hill.  As  superintendent,  he  should  doubt 
less  have  considered  his  responsibilities  to  the  pub 
lic;  he  did  consider  them  when  the  lady,  breathless 
and  severe,  approached  the  bridge,  while  every 
pound  of  her  ample  form  cast  its  weight  upon  the 
seal  of  her  disapproving,  low-voiced  and  significant, 
"  Good  evening,  Professor  Ashton." 

Fran  whistled. 

The  lady  heard,  but  she  swept  on  without  once 
glancing  back.  There  was  in  her  none  of  that 
saline  tendency  that  made  of  Lot  a  widower;  the 
lady  desired  to  see  no  more. 

Fran  opened  her  eyes  at  Abbott  to  their  widest 
extent,  as  she  demurely  asked,  "  How  cold  is  it  ? 
My  thermometer  is  frozen." 

The  young  man  did  not  betray  uneasiness,  though 


ON  THE  FOOT-BRIDGE  33 

he  was  really  alarmed,  for  his  knowledge  of  the 
fleshy  lady  enabled  him  to  foresee  gathering  clouds 
more  sinister  than  those  overhead.  The  obvious 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  release  the  slender  hand; 
he  did  so  rather  hastily. 

"Have  I  got  you  into  trouble?"  Fran  asked, 
with  her  elfish  laugh.  "If  so,  we'll  be  neighbors, 
for  that's  where  I  live.  Who  was  she  ?  " 

"  Miss  Sapphira  Clinton,"  he  answered  as,  by  a 
common  impulse,  they  began  walking  toward  Ham 
ilton  Gregory's  house.  "  Bob  Clinton's  sister,  and 
my  landlady."  The  more  Abbott  thought  of  his 
adventure,  the  darker  it  grew;  before  they  reached 
their  destination,  it  had  become  a  deep  gray. 

"  Do  you  mean  the  '  Brother  Clinton '  that 
couldn't  get  '  through  '  ?  " 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  He's  the  chairman  of  the  School 
Board." 

"Ah!"  murmured  Fran  comprehendingly.  At 
Gregory's  gate,  she  said,  "  Now  you  run  back  to 
the  tent  and  I'll  beard  the  lion  by  myself.  I  know 
it  has  sharp  teeth,  but  I  guess  it  won't  bite  me.  Do 
try  to  get  back  to  the  tent  before  the  meeting's  over. 
Show  yourself  there.  Parade  up  and  down  the 
aisles." 


34  FRAN 

He  laughed  heartily,  all  the  sorrier  for  her  be 
cause  he  found  himself  in  trouble. 

"  It  was  fun  while  it  lasted,  wasn't  it !  "  Fran  ex 
claimed,  with  a  sudden  gurgle. 

"  Part  of  it  was,"  he  admitted.  "  Good-by,  then, 
little  Nonpareil." 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"No,  sir!"  cried  Fran,  clasping  her  hands  be 
hind  her.  "  That's  what  got  you  into  trouble. 
Good-by.  Run  for  it !  " 


CHAPTER  IV, 

THE  WOMAN  WHO  WAS  NOT  MRS.  GREGORY 

TTARDLY  had  Abbott  Ashton  disappeared  down 
the  village  vista  of  moonlight  and  shadow- 
patches,  before  Fran's  mood  changed.  Instead  of 
seeking  to  carry  out  her  threat  of  bearding  the  lion 
in  the  den,  she  sank  down  on  the  porch-steps,  gath 
ered  her  knees  in  her  arms,  and  stared  straight  be 
fore  her. 

She  made  a  woebegone  little  figure  with  her 
dusty  shoes,  her  black  stockings,  her  huddled  body, 
while  the  big  hat  threw  all  into  deepest  gloom. 
From  hat  to  drawn-in  feet,  she  was  not  unlike  a 
narrow  edge  of  darkness  splitting  the  moon-sheen, 
a  somber  shadow  cast  by  goodness-knows-what  and 
threatening  goodness-knows-whom. 

Though  of  skilful  resources,  of  impregnable  reso 
lution,  Fran  could  be  despondent  to  the  bluest  de 
gree;  and  though  competent  at  the  clash,  she  often 
found  herself  purpling  on  the  eve  of  the  crisis. 

35 


36  FRAN 

The  moment  had  come  to  test  her  fighting  qualities, 
yet  she  drooped  despondently. 

Hamilton  Gregory  was  coming  through  the  gate. 
As  he  halted  in  surprise,  the  black  shadow  rose 
slowly,  wearily.  He,  little  dreaming  that  he  was 
confronted  by  a  shadow  from  the  past,  saw  in  her 
only  the  girl  who  had  been  publicly  expelled  from 
the  tent. 

The  choir-leader  had  expected  his  home-coming 
to  be  crowned  by  a  vision  very  different.  He  came 
up  the  walk  slowly,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  She 
waited,  outwardly  calm,  inwardly  gathering  power. 
White-hot  action  from  Fran,  when  the  iron  was 
to  be  welded.  Out  of  the  deepening  shadows  her . 
will  leaped  keen  as  a  blade. 

She  addressed  him,  "  Good  evening,  Mr.  Greg 
ory." 

He  halted.  When  he  spoke,  his  tone  expressed 
not  only  a  general  disapproval  of  all  girls  who  wan 
der  away  from  their  homes  in  the  night,  but  an 
especial  repugnance  to  one  who  could  laugh  during 
religious  services.  "  Do  you  want  to  speak  to  me, 
child?" 

"  Yes."  The  word  was  almost  a  whisper.  The 
sound  of  his  voice  had  weakened  her. 


THE  WOMAN  NOT  MRS.  GREGORY     37 

"What  do  you  want?"  He  stepped  up  on  the 
porch.  The  moon  had  vanished  behind  the  rising 
masses  of  storm-clouds,  not  to  appear  again,  but  the 
light  through  the  glass  door  revealed  his  poetic  fea 
tures.  Flashes  of  lightning  as  yet  faint  but  rapid 
in  recurrence,  showed  his  beauty  as  that  of  a  young 
man.  Fran  remained  silent,  moved  more  than  she 
could  have  thought  possible.  He  stared  intently, 
but  under  that  preposterous  hat,  she  was  practically 
invisible,  save  as  a  black  shadow.  He  asked  again, 
with  growing  impatience,  "  What  do  you  want?  " 

His  unfriendliness  gave  her  the  spur  she  needed. 
"  I  want  a  home,"  she  said  decidedly. 

Hamilton  Gregory  was  seriously  disturbed. 
However  evil-disposed,  the  waif  should  not  be  left 
to  wander  aimlessly  about  the  streets.  Of  the  three 
hotels  in  Littleburg,  the  cheapest  was  not  overly 
particular.  He  would  take  her  there.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me,"  he  temporized,  "  that  you  are  ab 
solutely  alone?  " 

Fran's  tone  was  a  little  hard,  not  because  she  felt 
bitter,  but  lest  she  betray  too  great  feeling,  "  Ab 
solutely  alone  in  the  world." 

He  was  sorry  for  her;  at  the  same  time  he  was 
subject  to  the  reaction  of  his  exhausting  labors  as 


38  FRAN 

song-leader.  "  Then,"  he  said,  with  tired  resigna 
tion,  "  if  you'll  follow  me,  I'll  take  you  where  you 
can  spend  the  night,  and  to-morrow,  I'll  try  to  find 
you  work." 

"Work!"  She  laughed.  "Oh,  thank  you!" 
Her  accent  was  that  of  repudiation.  Work,  in 
deed! 

He  drew  back  in  surprise  and  displeasure. 

"  You  didn't  understand  me,"  she  resumed. 
"  What  I  want  is  a  home.  I  don't  want  to  follow 
you  anywhere.  This  is  where  I  want  to  stay." 

"  You  can  not  stay  here,"  he  answered  with  a 
slight  smile  at  the  presumptuous  request,  "  but  I'm 
willing  to  pay  for  a  room  at  the  hotel  - 

At  this  moment,  the  door  was  opened  by  the 
young  woman  who,  some  hours  earlier,  had  re 
sponded  to  Fran's  knocking.  Footsteps  upon  the 
porch  had  told  of  Gregory's  return. 

The  lady  who  was  not  Mrs.  Gregory,  was  so 
pleased  to  see  the  gentleman  who  was  Mr.  Greg 
ory  —  they  had  not  met  since  the  evening  meal  — 
that,  at  first,  she  was  unaware  of  the  black  shadow ; 
and  Mr.  Gregory,  in  spite  of  his  perplexity,  forgot 
the  shadow  also,  so  cheered  was  he  by  the  glimpse 
of  his  secretary  as  she  stood  in  the  brightly  lighted 


THE  WOMAN  NOT  MRS.  GREGORY      39 

hall.  Such  moments  of  delighted  recognition  are 
infinitesimal  when  a  third  person,  however  shad 
owy,  is  present;  yet  had  the  world  been  there,  this 
exchange  of  glances  must  have  taken  place. 

Fran  did  not  understand  —  her  very  wisdom 
blinded  her  as  with  too  great  light.  She  had  seen 
so  much  of  the  world  that,  on  finding  a  tree  bear 
ing  apples,  she  at  once  classified  it  as  an  apple 
tree.  To  Gregory,  Grace  Noir  was  but  a  charming 
and  conscientious  sympathizer  in  his  life-work,  the 
atmosphere  in  which  he  breathed  freest.  He  had 
not  breathed  freely  for  half  a  dozen  hours  —  no 
wonder  he  was  glad  to  see  her.  To  Grace  Noir, 
Hamilton  Gregory  was  but  a  benefactor  to  man 
kind,  a  man  of  lofty  ideals  whom  it  was  a  privilege 
to  aid,  and  since  she  knew  that  her  very  eyes  gave 
him  strength,  no  wonder  she  was  glad  to  see  him. 

Could  Fran  have  read  their  thoughts,  she  would 
not  have  found  the  slightest  consciousness  of  any 
shade  of  evil  in  their  sympathetic  comradeship.  As 
she  could  read  only  their  faces,  she  disliked  more 
than  ever  the  tall,  young,  and  splendidly  formed 
secretary. 

"Oh!"  said  Grace  with  restraint,  discovering 
Fran. 


40  FRAN 

"  Yes,"  Fran  said  with  her  elfish  smile,  "  back 
again." 

Just  without  the  portal,  Hamilton  Gregory  paused 
irresolutely.  He  did  not  know  what  course  to  pur 
sue,  so  he  repeated  vacantly,  "  I  am  willing  to 
pay-" 

Fran  interrupted  flippantly :  "  I  have  all  the 
money  7  want."  Then  she  passed  swiftly  into  the 
hall,  rudely  brushing  past  the  secretary. 

Gregory  could  only  follow.  He  spoke  to  Grace 
in  a  low  voice,  telling  all  he  knew  of  the  night 
wanderer.  Her  attitude  called  for  explanations, 
but  he  would  have  given  them  anyway,  in  that  low 
confidential  murmur.  He  did  not  know  why  it  was 
—  or  seek  to  know  —  but  whenever  he  spoke  to 
Grace,  it  was  natural  to  use  a  low  tone,  as  if  modu 
lating  his  touch  to  sensitive  strings  —  as  if  the  har 
mony  resulting  from  the  interplay  of  their  souls 
called  for  the  soft  pedal. 

"What  is  to  be  done?"  Grace  inquired.  Her 
attitude  of  reserve  toward  Gregory  which  Fran's 
presence  had  inspired,  melted  to  potential  helpful 
ness  ;  at  the  same  time,  her  dislike  for  the  girl  solidi 
fied.  That  Fran  should  have  laughed  aloud  in  the 
tent,  removed  her  from  the  secretary's  understand- 


THE  WOMAN  NOT  MRS.  GREGORY     41 

ing.  But  the  worst  indictment  had  been  pro 
nounced  against  her  by  her  own  shameless  tongue. 
That  one  so  young,  without  a  home,  without  fear 
of  the  dark  streets,  should  have  all  the  money  she 
wants.  .  .  . 

"What  do  you  advise?"  Gregory  asked  his  sec 
retary  gently. 

Grace  cast  a  disdainful  look  at  Fran.  Then  she 
turned  to  her  employer  and  her  deliciously  curved 
face  changed  most  charmingly.  "  I  think,"  she  re 
sponded  with  a  faint  shake  of  rebuke  for  his  leni 
ency,  "that  you  should  not  need  my  advice  in  this 
matter."  She  had  occasionally  feared  that  his  ir 
resolution  at  moments  calling  for  important  de 
cisions  hinted  at  weakness.  Why  should  he  stand 
apparently  helpless  before  this  small  bundle  of  arro 
gant  impudence? 

Gregory  turned  upon  Fran  with  affected  harsh 
ness.  "  You  must  go."  He  was  annoyed  that 
Grace  should  imagine  him  weak. 

Fran's  face  hardened.  It  became  an  ax  of  stone, 
sharpened  at  each  end,  with  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth 
in  a  narrow  line  of  cold  defiance.  To  Grace,  the 
acute  wedge  of  white  forehead,  gleaming  its  way 
to  the  roots  of  the  black  hair,  and  the  sharp  chin 


42  FRAN 

cutting  its  way  down  from  the  tightly  drawn 
mouth,  spoke  only  of  cunning.  She  regarded  Fran 
as  a  fox,  brought  to  bay. 

Fran  spoke  with  calm  deliberation :  "  I  am  not 
going  away." 

"  I  would  advise  you,"  said  Grace,  looking  down 
at  her  from  under  drooping  lids,  "  to  go  at  once, 
for  a  storm  is  rising.  Do  you  want  to  be  caught 
in  the  rain  ?  " 

Fran  looked  up  at  Grace,  undaunted.  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  Mr.  Gregory.  If  you  are  the  manager 
of  this  house,  he  and  I  can  go  outdoors.  I  don't 
mind  getting  wet.  I've  been  in  all  kinds  of 
weather." 

Grace  looked  at  Gregory.  Her  silences  were  ef 
fective  weapons. 

"  I  have  no  secrets  from  this  lady,"  he  said,  look 
ing  into  Grace's  eyes,  answering  her  silence. 
"  What  do  you  want  to  say  to  me,  child?  " 

Fran  shrugged  her  shoulders,  always  looking  at 
Grace,  while  neither  of  the  others  looked  at  her. 
"  Very  well,  then,  of  course  it  doesn't  matter  to 
me,  but  I  thought  it  might  to  Mr.  Gregory.  Since 
he  hasn't  any  secrets  from  you,  of  course  he  has 
told  you  that  one  of  nearly  twenty  years  ago— 


TflE  WOMAN  NOT  MRS.  GREGORY     43 

It  was  not  the  rumble  of  distant  thunder,  but  a 
strange  exclamation  from  the  man  that  interrupted 
her;  it  was  some  such  cry  as  human  creatures  may 
have  uttered  before  the  crystallizing  of  recurring 
experiences  into  the  terms  of  speech. 

Fran  gave  quick,  relentless  blows :  "  Of  course 
he  has  told  you  all  about  his  Springfield  life  — " 

"  Silence ! "  shouted  Gregory,  quivering  from 
head  to  foot.  The  word  was  like  an  imprecation, 
and  for  a  time  it  kept  hissing  between  his  locked 
teeth. 

"  And  of  course,"  Fran  continued,  tilting  up  her 
chin  as  if  to  drive  in  the  words,  "  since  you  know 
all  of  his  secrets  —  all  of  them  —  you  have  natu 
rally  been  told  the  most  important  one.  And  so 
you  know  that  when  he  was  boarding  with  his 
cousin  in  Springfield  and  attending  the  college  there, 
something  like  twenty  years  ago  — " 

"  Leave  us ! "  Gregory  cried,  waving  a  violent 
arm  at  his  secretary,  as  if  to  sweep  her  beyond  the 
possibility  of  overhearing  another  word. 

"  Leave  you  —  with  her?  "  Grace  stammered,  too 
amazed  by  his  attitude  to  feel  offended. 

'''  Yes,  yes,  yes!  Go  at  once!  "  He  seemed  the 
victim  of  some  mysterious  terror. 


44  FRAN 

Grace  compressed  her  full  lips  till  they  were 
thinned  to  a  white  line.  "  Do  you  mean  for  ever?  " 

"  Oh,  Grace  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  Miss  Grace 
—  I  don't  mean  that,  of  course.  What  could  I  do 
without  you  ?  Nothing,  nothing,  Grace  —  you  arc 
the  soul  of  my  work.  Don't  look  at  me  so  cru 
elly." 

"  Then  you  just  mean,"  Grace  said  steadily,  "  for 
me  to  go  away  for  a  little  while  ?  " 

"Only  half  an  hour;  that's  all.  Only  half  an 
hour,  and  then  come  back  to  me,  and  I  will  ex 
plain." 

"  You  needn't  go  at  all,  on  my  account."  observed 
Fran,  with  a  twist  of  her  mouth.  "  It's  nothing  to 
me  whether  you  go  or  stay." 

"  She  has  learned  a  secret,"  Gregory  stammered, 
"  that  vitally  affects  —  affects  some  people  —  some 
friends  of  mine.  I  must  talk  to  her  about  —  about 
that  secret,  just  for  a  little  while.  Half  an  hour, 
Miss  Grace,  that  is  all.  That  is  really  all  —  then 
come  back  to  me.  You  understand  that  it's  on  ac 
count  of  the  secret  that  I  ask  you  to  leave  us.  You 
understand  that  I  would  never  send  you  away  from 
me  if  I  had  my  way,  don't  you,  Grace?  " 

"  I  understand  that  you  want  me  to  go  now," 


THE  WOMAN  NOT  MRS.  GREGORY     45 

Grace  Noir  replied,  unresponsive.  She  ascended 
the  stairway,  at  each  step  seeming  to  mount  that 
much  the  higher  into  an  atmosphere  of  righteous 
remoteness. 

No  one  who  separated  Gregory  from  his  secre 
tary  could  enjoy  his  toleration,  but  Fran  had  struck 
far  below  the  surface  of  likings  and  dislikings. 
She  had  turned  back  the  covering  of  conventionality 
to  lay  bare  the  quivering  heartstrings  of  life  itself. 
There  was  no  time  to  hesitate.  The  stone  ax  which 
on  other  occasions  might  be  a  laughing  elfish  face 
was  now  held  ready  for  battle. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  go  in  a  room  where  we  can 
talk  privately?"  Fran  asked.  "I  don't  like  this 
hall.  That  woman  would  just  as  soon  listen  over 
the  banisters  as  not  I've  seen  lots  of  people  like 
her,  and  I  understand  her  kind." 


CHAPTER  V 

WE   REAP    WHAT    WE   SOW 

TF  anything  could  have  prejudiced  Hamilton 
Gregory  against  Fran's  interests  it  would  have 
been  her  slighting  allusion  to  the  one  who  typified 
his  most  exalted  ideals  as  "  that  woman ".  But 
Fran  was  to  him  nothing  but  an  agent  bringing  out 
of  the  past  a  secret  he  had  preserved  for  almost 
twenty  years.  This  stranger  knew  of  his  youthful 
folly,  and  she  must  be  prevented  from  communi 
cating  it  to  others. 

It  was  from  no  sense  of  aroused  conscience  that 
he  hastened  to  lead  her  to  the  front  room.  In  this 
crisis,  something  other  than  shuddering  recoil  from 
haunting  deeds  was  imperative;  unlovely  specters 
must  be  made  to  vanish. 

How  much  did  this  girl  know?  And  how  could 
her  silence  be  purchased?  His  conscience  was  sel 
dom  asleep;  but  coals  of  remorse  are  endurable, 
however  galling,  if  the  winds  of  publicity  do  not 
threaten  to  fan  them  to  a  blaze. 

46 


WE  REAP  WHAT  WE  SOW  47 

He  tried  desperately  to  cover  his  dread  under 
a  voice  of  harshness :  "  What  have  you  to  say  to 
me?" 

Fran  had  lost  the  insolent  composure  which  the 
secretary  had  inspired.  Now  that  she  was  alone 
with  Hamilton  Gregory,  it  seemed  impossible  to 
speak.  She  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands.  She 
opened  her  mouth,  but  her  lips  were  dry.  The  wind 
had  risen,  and  as  it  went  moaning  past  the  window, 
it  seemed  to  speak  of  the  yearning  of  years  passing 
in  the  night,  unsatisfied.  At  last  came  the  words 
muffled,  frightened  — "  I  know  all  about  it." 

"All  about  what,  child?"  He  had  lost  his 
harshness.  His  voice  was  almost  coaxing,  as  if  en 
treating  the  mercy  of  ignorance. 

Fran  gasped,  "  I  know  all  about  it  —  I  know  — " 
She  was  terrified  by  the  thought  that  perhaps  she 
would  not  be  able  to  tell  him.  Her  head  grew  light ; 
she  seemed  floating  away  into  dark  space,  as  if 
drawn  by  the  fleeing  wind,  while  the  man  before  her 
was  magnified.  She  leaned  heavily  upon  a  table 
with  hand  turned  backward,  whitening  her  finger 
tips  by  the  weight  thrown  on  them. 

"  About  what?  "  he  repeated  with  the  caution  of 
one  who  fears.  He  could  not  doubt  the  genuine- 


48  FRAN 

ness  of  her  emotion;  but  he  would  not  accept  her 
statement  of  its  cause  until  he  must. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Fran,  catching  a  tempestuous  breath, 
uneven,  violent,  "you  know  what  I  mean — that!" 

The  dew  glistened  on  his  brow,  but  he  doggedly 
stood  on  the  defensive.  "  You  are  indefinite,"  he 
muttered,  trying  to  appear  bold. 

She  knew  he  did  not  understand  because  he  would 
not,  and  now  she  realized  that  he  would,  if  possi 
ble,  deny.  His  bearing  suggested  something  so  for 
eign  to  her  own  nature,  that  it  gave  her  strength. 
She  had  been  afraid  to  witness  the  emotion  her 
knowledge  might  excite,  but  all  he  revealed  was  a 
determination  to  avoid  the  issue. 

Pretense  and  sham  always  hardened  her. 
"  Then,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  will  be  definite.  I  will 
tell  you  the  things  it  would  have  been  better  for 
you  to  tell  me.  Your  early  home  was  in  New  York, 
but  you  had  a  cousin  living  in  Springfield,  where 
there  was  a  very  good  college.  Your  parents  were 
anxious  to  get  you  away  from  the  temptations  of  a 
big  city  until  you  were  of  age.  So  you  were  sent 
to  live  with  your  cousin  and  attend  college.  You 
were  with  him  three  or  four  years,  and  at  last  the 
time  came  for  graduation.  Shall  I  go  on  ?  " 


WE  REAP  WHAT  WE  SOW  49 

He  fought  desperately  for  self-preservation. 
"What  is  there  in  all  this?" 

"  You  had  married,  in  the  meantime,"  Fran  said 
coldly;  "married  secretly.  That  was  about  nine 
teen  years  ago.  She  was  only  about  eighteen. 
After  graduation,  you  were  to  go  to  New  York, 
break  the  news  to  your  father,  come  back  to  Spring 
field  for  your  wife,  and  acknowledge  her.  You 
graduated ;  you  went  to  your  father.  Did  you  come 
back?" 

"  My  God !  "  groaned  the  man.  So  she  knew 
everything;  must  he  admit  it?  "What  is  all  this 
to  you?"  he  burst  forth.  "Who  and  what  are 
you,  anyway  —  and  why  do  you  come  here  with 
your  story?  If  it  were  true — " 

"  True !  "  said  Fran  bitterly.  "  If  you've  for 
gotten,  why  not  go  to  Springfield  and  ask  the  first 
old  citizen  you  meet  ?  Or  you  might  write  to  some 
one  you  used  to  know,  and  inquire.  If  you  prefer, 
I'll  send  for  one  of  your  old  professors,  and  pay 
his  expenses.  They  took  a  good  deal  of  interest 
in  the  young  college  student  who  married  and  neg 
lected  Josephine  Derry.  They  haven't  forgotten  it, 
if  you  have." 

"  You  don't  know,"  he  gasped,  "  that  there's  a 


50  FRAN 

penalty  for  coming  to  people's  houses  to  threaten 
them  with  supposed  facts  in  their  lives.  You  don't 
know  that  the  jails  are  ready  to  punish  blackmailing, 
for  you  are  only  a  little  girl  and  don't  understand 
such  things.  I  give  you  warning.  Although  you 
are  in  short  dresses  — 

"  Yes,"  remarked  Fran  dryly,  "  I  thought  that 
would  be  an  advantage  to  you.  It  ought  to  make 
things  easier." 

"  How  an  advantage  to  me  ?  Easier  ?  What 
hav ;  I  to  do  with  you?  " 

"  I  thought,"  Fran  said  coolly,  "  that  it  would  be 
easier  for  you  to  take  me  into  the  house  as  a  little 
girl  than  as  a  grown  woman.  You'll  remember 
I  told  you  I've  come  here  to  stay." 

"  To  stay !  "  he  echoed,  shrinking  back.    fe  You?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  all  the  cooler  for  his  attitude  of 
repulsion.  "  I  want  a  home.  Yes,  I'm  going  to 
stay.  I  want  to  belong  to  somebody." 

He  cried  out  desperately,  "  But  what  am  I  to  do  ? 
This  will  ruin  me  —  oh,  it's  true,  all  you've  said  — 
I  don't  deny  it.  But  I  tell  you,  girl,  you  will  ruin 
me.  Is  all  the  work  of  my  life  to  be  overturned? 
I  shall  go  mad." 

"  No,    you    won't,"    Fran    calmly    assured    him. 


"  T   want  to  belong  to  somebody. 


WE  REAP  WHAT  WE  SOW  51 

"  You'll  do  what  every  one  has  to  do,  sooner  or 
later  —  face  the  situation.  You're  a  little  late  get 
ting  to  it,  but  it  was  coming  all  the  time.  You  can 
let  me  live  here  as  an  adopted  orphan,  or  any  way 
you  please.  The  important  fact  to  me  is  that  I'm 
going  to  live  here.  But  I  don't  want  to  make  it 
hard  for  you,  truly  I  don't." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  He  spoke  not  loudly,  but  with 
tremendous  pressure  of  desire.  "  Then,  for  God's 
sake,  go  back!  Go  back  to  —  to  wherever  you 
came  from.  I'll  pay  all  expenses.  You  shall  have 
all  )MDU  want — " 

"  All  I  want,"  Fran  responded,  "  is  a  home,  and 
that's  something  people  can't  buy.  Get  used  to  the 
thought  of  my  staying  here;  that  will  make  it 
easy." 

"  Easy !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Then  it's  your  pur 
pose  to  compel  me  to  give  you  shelter  because  of 
this  secret  —  you  mean  to  ruin  me.  I'll  not  be 
able  to  account  for  you,  and  they  will  question  — 
my  wife  will  want  to  know,  and  —  and  others  as 
well." 

"  Now,  now,"  said  Fran,  with  sudden  gentle 
ness,  "  don't  be  so  excited,  don't  take  it  so  hard. 
Let  them  question.  I'll  know  how  to  keep  from 


52  FRAN 

exposing  you.  But  I  do  want  to  belong  to  some 
body,  and  after  I've  been  here  a  while,  and  you  be 
gin  to  like  me,  I'll  tell  you  everything.  I  knew  the 
Josephine  Derry  that  you  deserted  —  she  raised  me, 
and  I  know  she  loved  you  to  the  end.  Didn't  you 
ever  care  for  her,  not  even  at  the  first,  when  you 
got  her  to  keep  your  marriage  secret  until  you  could 
speak  to  your  father  face  to  face  ?  You  must  have 
loved  her  then.  And  she's  the  best  friend  I  ever 
had.  Since  she  died  I've  wandered  —  and  —  and 
I  want  a  home." 

The  long  loneliness  of  years  found  expression 
in  her  eager  voice  and  pleading  eyes,  but  he  was 
too  engrossed  with  his  own  misfortunes  to  heed 
her  emotion.  "Didn't  I  go  back  to  Springfield?" 
he  cried  out.  "  Of  course  I  did.  I  made  inquiries 
for  her ;  that's  why  I  went  back  —  to  find  out  what 
had  become  of  her.  I'd  been  gone  only  three  years, 
yes,  only  three  years  —  but,  good  heavens,  how  I 
had  suffered !  I  was  so  changed  that  nobody  knew 
me."  He  paused,  appalled  at  the  recollection.  "  I 
have  always  had  a  terrible  capacity  for  suffering. 
I  tell  you,  it  was  my  duty  to  go  back  to  find  her, 
and  I  went  back.  I  would  have  acknowledged  her 
as  my  wife.  I  would  have  lived  with  her.  I'd 


WE  REAP  WHAT  WE  SOW  53 

have  done  right  by  her,  though  it  had  killed  me. 
Can  I  say  more  than  that?  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  went  back,"  said  Fran  softly. 
"  She  never  knew  it.  I  am  so  glad  that  you  did  — 
even  that." 

"  Yes,  I  did  go  back,"  he  said,  more  firmly.  "  But 
she  was  gone.  I  tell  you  all  this  because  you  say 
she  was  your  best  friend." 

"  A  while  ago  you  asked  me  who  I  am  —  and 
what  — " 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  he  interjected.  "  You  were 
her  friend ;  that  is  all  I  care  to  know.  I  went  back 
to  Springfield,  after  three  years  —  but  she  was  gone. 
I  was  told  that  her  uncle  had  cast  her  off,  and  she 
had  disappeared.  It  seems  that  she'd  made  friends 
with  a  class  of  people  who  were  not  —  who  were 
not  —  respectable." 

Fran's  eyes  shone  brightly.  "  Oh,  they  were 
not,"  she  agreed,  "  they  were  not  at  all  what  you 
would  call  respectable.  They  were  not  re 
ligious." 

"  So  I  was  told,"  he  resumed,  a  little  uncertainly. 
'  There  was  no  way  for  me  to  find  her." 

"  Her  ?  "  cried  Fran,  "  you  keep  saying  '  her '. 
Do  you  mean  — ?  " 


54  FRAN 

He  hesitated.  "  She  had  chosen  her  part  —  to 
live  with  those  people  —  I  left  her  to  lead  the  life 
that  pleased  her.  That's  why  I  never  went  back 
to  Springfield  again.  I've  taken  up  my  life  in  my 
own  way,  and  left  her  —  your  friend  — 

"  Yes,  call  her  that,"  cried  Fran,  holding  up  her 
head.  "  I  am  proud  of  that  title.  I  glory  in  it. 
And  in  this  house  — 

"  I  have  made  my  offer,"  he  interrupted  decid 
edly.  "  I'll  provide  for  you  anywhere  but  in  this 
house." 

Fran  regarded  him  with  somber  intensity.  "  I've 
asked  for  a  home  with  you  on  the  grounds  that 
your  wife  was  my  best  friend  in  all  the  world,  and 
because  I  am  homeless.  You  refuse.  I  suppose 
that's  natural.  I  have  to  guess  at  your  feelings 
because  I  haven't  been  raised  among  '  respectable  ' 
people.  I'm  sorry  you  don't  like  it,  but  you're 
going  to  provide  for  me  right  here.  For  a  girl,  I'm 
pretty  independent ;  folks  that  don't  like  me  are  wel 
come  to  all  the  enjoyment  they  get  out  of  their  dis 
like.  I'm  here  to  stay.  Suppose  you  look  on  me 
as  a  sort  of  summer  crop.  I  enjoyed  hearing  you 
sing,  to-night  — 


WE  REAP  WHAT  WE  SOW  55 

"  '  We  reap  what  we  sow, 
We  reap  what  we  sow  ' — 

I  see  you  remember." 

He  shuddered  at  her  mocking  holy  things. 
"Hush!  What  are  you  saying?  The  past  is  cut 
off  from  my  life.  I  have  been  pardoned,  and  I 
will  not  have  anybody  forcing  that  past  upon 
me." 

Her  words  came  bitingly :  "  You  can't  help  it. 
You  sowed.  You  can't  pardon  a  seed  from  grow 
ing." 

"  I  can  help  it,  and  I  will.  The  past  is  no  more 
mine  than  hers  —  our  marriage  was  legal,  but  it 
bound  me  no  more  than  it  bound  her.  She  chose 
her  own  companions.  I  have  been  building  up  a 
respectable  life,  here  in  Littleburg.  You  shall  not 
overturn  the  labor  of  the  last  ten  years.  You  can 
go.  My  will  is  unalterable.  Go  —  and  do  what 
you  can! " 

Instead  of  anger,  Fran  showed  sorrow :  "  How 
long  have  you  been  married  to  the  second  Mrs. 
Gregory  —  the  present  one?" 

He  turned  his  back  upon  her  as  if  to  go  to  the 
door,  but  he  wheeled  about :  "  Ten  years.  You 


56  FRAN 

understand?  Ten  years  of  the  best  work  of  my 
life  that  you  want  to  destroy." 

"  Poor  lady !  "  murmured  Fran.  '  The  first  Mrs. 
Gregory  —  my  '  friend '-  —  has  been  dead  only  three 
years.  You  and  she  were  never  divorced.  The 
lady  that  you  call  Mrs.  Gregory  now, —  she  isn't 
your  wife,  is  she?  " 

"  I  thought  — "  he  was  suddenly  ashen  pale  — 
"  but  I  thought  that  she  —  I  believed  her  dead  long 
ago  —  I  was  sure  of  it  —  positive.  What  you  say 
is  impossible  — " 

"  But  no  one  can  sow  without  reaping,"  Fran 
said,  still  pityingly.  "  When  you  sang  those  words, 
it  was  only  a  song  to  you,  but  music  is  just  a  bit  of 
life's  embroidery,  while  you  think  it  life  itself. 
You  don't  sow,  or  reap  in  a  choir  loft.  You  can't 
sow  deeds  and  reap  words." 

"  I  understand  you,  now,"  he  faltered.  "  You 
have  come  to  disgrace  me.  What  good  will  that 
do  you,  or  —  or  my  first  wife?  You  are  no  ab 
straction,  to  represent  sowing  or  reaping,  but  a 
flesh-and-blood  girl  who  can  go  away  if  she 
chooses  — " 

"  She  chooses  to  stay,"  Fran  assured  him. 

"  Then  you  have  resolved  to  ruin  me  and  break 


WE  REAP  WHAT  WE  SOW  57 

my  wife's  heart!  "  The  sweet  uncomplaining  face 
of  the  second  Mrs.  Gregory  rose  before  him.  And 
Grace  Noir  —  what  would  she  think  ? 

"  No,  I'm  just  here  to  have  a  home." 

"  Will  you  enjoy  a  home  that  you  seize  by 
force?" 

"  Don't  they  say  that  the  Kingdom  of  God  may 
be  taken  by  force?  But  you  know  more  about  the 
Kingdom  than  I.  Let  them  believe  me  the  daugh 
ter  of  some  old  boyhood  friend  —  that'll  make  it 
easy.  As  the  daughter  of  that  friend,  you'll  give 
me  a  home.  I'll  keep  out  of  your  way,  and  be 
pleasant  —  a  nice  little  girl,  of  any  age  you  please." 
She  smiled  remotely. 

He  spoke  dully :  "  But  they'll  want  to  know  all 
about  that  old  college  friend." 

"  Naturally.  Well,  just  invent  some  story  —  I'll 
stand  by  you." 

"  You  do  not  know  me,"  he  returned,  drawing 
himself  up.  "What!  do  you  imagine  I  would  lie 
to  them?" 

"  I  think,"  Fran  remarked  impersonally,  "  that 
to  a  person  in  your  position  —  a  person  beginning 
to  reap  what  he  has  sown,  lying  is  always  the  next 
course.  But  you  must  act  as  your  conscience  die- 


58  FRAN 

tates.  You  may  be  sure  that  if  you  decide  to  tell 
the  truth,  I'll  certainly  stand  by  you  in  that." 

Helplessly  driven  to  bay,  he  flashed  out  violently, 
"  Unnatural  girl  —  or  woman  —  or  whatever  you 
are  —  there  is  no  spirit  of  girlhood  or  womanhood 
in  you." 

Fran  returned  in  a  low  concentrated  voice,  "If 
I'm  unnatural,  what  were  you  in  the  Springfield 
days?  Was  it  natural  for  you  to  be  married  se 
cretly  when  the  marriage  might  have  been  public? 
When  you  went  away  to  break  the  news  to  your 
father,  wasn't  it  rather  unnatural  for  you  to  hide 
three  years  before  coming  back?  When  you  came 
back  and  heard  that  your  wife  had  gone  away  to  be 
supported  by  people  who  were  not  respectable,  was 
it  natural  for  you  to  be  satisfied  with  the  first  ru 
mors  you  heard,  and  disappear  for  good  and  all? 
As  for  me,  yes,  I  have  neither  the  spirit  of  girlhood 
nor  womanhood,  for  I'm  neither  a  girl,  nor  a  woman, 
I'm  nothing."  Her  voice  trembled.  "  Don't  rouse 
my  anger  —  when  I  lose  grip  on  myself,  I'm  pretty 
hard  to  stop.  If  I  let  everything  rush  on  my  mind 
—  how  she  —  my  '  -friend ' —  my  sweet  darling 
'  friend  '-  -  how  she  searched  for  you  all  the  years 


WE  REAP  WHAT  WE  SOW  59 

till  she  died  —  and  how  even  on  her  death-bed  she 
thought  maybe  you'd  come  —  you  — " 

Fran  choked  back  the  words.  "Don't!"  she 
gasped.  "  Don't  reproach  me,  or  I'll  reproach  you, 
and  I  mustn't  do  that.  I  want  to  hide  my  real 
heart  from  you  —  from  all  the  world.  I  want  to 
smile,  and  be  like  respectable  people." 

"  For  God's  sake,"  whispered  the  other  frantic 
ally,  "hush!  I  hear  my  wife  coming.  Yes,  yes, 
I'll  do  everything  you  say,  but,  oh,  don't  ruin  me. 
You  shall  have  a  home  with  us,  you  shall  have  every 
thing,  everything." 

"  Except  a  welcome,"  Fran  faltered,  frightened 
at  the  emotion  she  had  betrayed.  "  Can  you  show 
me  to  a  room  —  quick  —  before  your  wife  comes? 
I  don't  want  to  meet  her,  now,  I'm  terribly  tired. 
I've  come  all  the  way  from  New  York  to  find  you ; 
I  reached  Littleburg  only  at  dusk  —  and  I've  been 
pretty  busy  ever  since !  " 

"  Come,  then,"  he  said  hastily.  "  This  way  — 
I'll  show  you  a  room.  .  .  .  It's  too  late,"  he 
broke  off,  striving  desperately  to  regain  composure,. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  woman  entered  the  room 
hastily. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MRS.    GREGORY 

'  I  VHE  wind  had  suddenly  increased  in  violence, 
and  a  few  raindrops  had  already  fallen.  Ap 
prehensions  of  a  storm  caused  hurried  movements 
throughout  the  house.  Blinding  flashes  of  light 
ning  suggested  a  gathering  of  the  family  in  the  re 
ception-hall,  where,  according  to  tradition,  there 
was  "  less  danger " ;  and  as  the  unknown  lady 
opened  the  door  of  the  front  room,  Fran  heard 
footsteps  upon  the  stairs,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Grace  Noir  descending. 

The  lady  closed  the  door  behind  her  before  she 
perceived  Fran,  so  intent  was  she  upon  securing 
from  threatening  rain  some  unfinished  silk-work 
lying  on  the  window-sill.  She  paused  abruptly,  her 
honest  brown  eyes  opened  wide. 

Fran  regarded  her  with  that  elfish  smile  which, 
to  the  secretary,  had  suggested  a  fox.  It  was  the 
coolest  little  smile,  slyly  playing  upon  her  twisted 
mouth. 

60 


MRS.  GREGORY  61 

The  perspiration  shone  on  Hamilton  Gregory's 
forehead.  "  Just  a  moment/'  he  uttered  incoher 
ently  — "  wait  —  I'll  be  back  when  I  make  sure  my 
library  window's  closed.  .  .  ."  He  left  the 
room,  his  brain  in  an  agony  of  indecision.  How 
much  must  be  told?  And  how  would  they  regard 
him  after  the  telling? 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  the  lady  of  thirty-five, 
mildly,  but  with  gathering  wonder. 

The  answer  came,  with  a  broken  laugh,  "  I  am 
Fran."  It  was  spoken  a  little  defiantly,  a  little 
menacingly,  as  if  the  tired  spirit  was  bracing  itself 
for  battle. 

The  lady  wore  her  wavy  hair  parted  in  the  mid 
dle  after  that  fashion  which  perhaps  was  never 
new;  and  no  impudent  ribbon  or  arrogant  flounce 
stole  one's  attention  from  the  mouth  that  was  just 
sincere  and  sweet.  It  was  a  face  one  wanted  to 
look  at  because  —  well,  Fran  didn't  know  why. 
"  She's  no  prettier  than  I,"  was  Fran's  decision, 
measuring  from  the  natural  standard  —  the  stand 
ard  every  woman  hides  in  her  own  breast.  The 
nose  was  too  slight,  but  it  seemed  cut  to  Fran's  lik 
ing. 

Fran  smiled  in  a  different  way  —  a  smile  that 


62  FRAN 

did  not  instantaneously  flash,  but  darted  out  of  the 
corner  of  her  eye,  and  slipped  along  the  slightly 
parted  lips,  as  if  afraid  of  "being  caught,  and  van 
ished,  leaving  a  wistful  face. 

"  And  who  is  Fran  ?  "  asked  the  mild  voice.  The 
lady  smiled  so  tenderly,  it  was  like  a  mellow  light 
stealing  from  a  fairy  rose-garden  of  thornless  souls. 

Fran  caught  her  breath  while  her  face  showed 
hardness  —  but  not  against  the  other.  She  felt 
something  like  holy  wrath  as  her  presentment 
sounded  forth  protestingly — "  But  who  are  you?" 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Gregory." 

"  Oh,  no,"  cried  Fran,  with  violence,  "  no !  "  She 
added  rather  wildly,  "  It  can't  be  —  I  mean  —  but 
say  you  are  not  Mrs.  Gregory." 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Gregory,"  the  other  repeated,  mysti 
fied. 

Fran  tried  to  hide  her  emotion  with  a  smile,  but 
it  would  have  been  easier  for  her  to  cry,  just  be 
cause  she  of  the  patient  brown  eyes  was  Mrs.  Greg 
ory. 

At  that  moment  Hamilton  Gregory  reentered  the 
room,  brought  back  by  the  fear  that  Fran  might 
tell  all  during  his  absence.  How  different  life 
would  have  been  if  he  could  have  found  her  flown! 


MRS.  GREGORY  63 

-but  he  read  in  her  face  no  promise  of  depar 
ture. 

His  wife  was  not  surprised  at  his  haggard  face, 
for  he  was  always  working  too  hard,  worrying  over 
his  extensive  charities,  planning  editorials  for  his 
philanthropic  journal,  devising  means  to  better  the 
condition  of  the  local  church.  But  the  presence  of 
this  stranger  —  doubtless  one  of  his  countless  ob 
jects  of  charity  —  demanded  explanation. 

He  loathed  the  necessity  that  confronted  him, 
above  all  the  uncertainty  of  his  situation.  Hitherto 
the  mistakes  of  his  life  had  passed  over  his  head 
without  dangerous  explosions;  he  had  gone  away 
from  them,  and  they  had  seemed,  somehow,  to  right 
themselves. 

"  Come,"  he  said  bruskly,  addressing  neither 
directly,  "  we  needn't  stop  here.  I  have  some  ex 
planations  to  make,  and  they  might  as  well  be  made 
before  everybody,  once  and  for  all.  .  .  ."  He 
paused  wretchedly,  seeing  no  outlook,  no  possible 
escape.  Something  must  be  told  —  not  a  lie,  but 
possibly  not  all  the  truth ;  that  would  rest  with  Fran. 
He  was  as  much  in  her  power  as  if  she,  herself,  had 
been  the  effect  of  his  sin. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  walked  with  heavy  step 


64  FRAN 

into  the  hall.     Mrs.  Gregory  followed,  wondering, 
looking  rather  at  Fran  than  at  her  husband.    Fran's 
keen   eyes   searched   the   apartment    for  the  actual 
source  of  Hamilton  Gregory's  acutest  regrets. 
Yes,  there  stood  the  secretary. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   FAMILY    CONFERENCE 

TT7ITH  the  coming  of  the  rain,  the  peals  of 
thunder  had  grown  less  violent,  and  the  wind 
had  fallen;  but  those  who  had  sought  the  reception 
room  for  safety  found  in  Fran's  presence  something 
as  startling,  and  as  incomprehensible,  as  the  most 
vivid  lightning. 

Of  the  group,  it  was  the  secretary  who  first 
claimed  Fran's  attention.  In  a  way,  Grace  Noir 
dominated  the  place.  Perhaps  it  was  because  of  her 
splendidly  developed  body,  her  beauty,  her  attitude 
of  unclaimed  yet  recognized  authority,  that  she 
stood  distinctly  first. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gregory,  her  mild  aloofness  sug 
gested  that  she  hardly  belonged  to  the  family.  Ham 
ilton  Gregory  found  himself  instinctively  turning 
to  Grace,  rather  than  to  his  wife.  Mrs.  Gregory's 
face  did,  indeed,  ask  why  Fran  was  there ;  but  Grace, 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  looking  at 
65 


66  FRAN 

Gregory  with  memory  of  her  recent  dismissal,  de 
manded  explanations. 

Mrs.  Gregory's  mother,  confined  by  paralysis  to 
a  wheel-chair,  fastened  upon  the  new-comer  eyes 
whose  brightness  seventy  years  or  more  had  not 
dimmed.  The  group  was  completed  by  Mrs.  Greg 
ory's  bachelor  brother,  older  than  his  sister  by  fif 
teen  years.  This  brother,  Simon  Jefferson,  though 
stockily  built  and  evidently  well-fed,  wore  an  air 
of  lassitude,  as  if  perennially  tired.  As  he  leaned 
back  in  a  hall  chair,  he  seemed  the  only  one  present 
who  did  not  care  why  Fran  was  there. 

Gregory  broke  the  silence  by  clearing  his  throat 
with  evident  embarrassment.  A  peal  of  thunder  of 
fered  him  reprieve,  and  after  its  reverberations  had 
died  away,  he  still  hesitated.  "  This,"  he  said  pres 
ently,  "  is  a  —  the  orphan  —  an  orphan  —  one  who 
has  come  to  me  from —  She  says  her  name  is 
Frances." 

"  Fran,"  came  the  abrupt  correction ;  "  just 
Fran." 

There  was  a  general  feeling  that  an  orphan 
should  speak  less  positively,  even  about  her  own 
name  —  should  be,  as  it  were,  subdued  from  the 
mere  fact  of  orphanhood. 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  67 

"  An  orphan !  "  Simon  Jefferson  ejaculated,  mov 
ing  restlessly  in  his  effort  to  find  the  easiest  corner 
of  his  chair.  "  I  hope  nothing  is  going  to  excite 
me.  I  have  heart-disease,  little  girl,  and  I'm  liable 
to  topple  off  at  any  moment.  I  tell  you,  I  must  not 
be  excited." 

"  I  don't  think,"  replied  Fran,  with  cheerful  in 
terest  in  his  malady,  "  that  orphans  are  very  excit- 
ing." 

Hamilton  Gregory  resumed,  cautiously  stepping 
over  dangerous  ground,  while  the  others  looked  at 
Fran,  and  Grace  never  ceased  to  look  at  him.  "  She 
came  here  to-night,  after  the  services  at  the  Big 
Tent.  She  came  here  and,  or  I  should  say,  to  re 
quest,  to  ask  —  Miss  Grace  saw  her  when  she  came. 
Miss  Grace  knew  of  her  being  here."  He  seized 
upon  this  fact  as  if  to  lift  himself  over  pitfalls. 

Grace's  eyes  were  gravely  judicial.  She  would 
not  condemn  him  unheard,  but  at  the  same  time  she 
let  him  see  that  her  knowledge  of  Fran  would  not 
help  his  case.  It  did  not  surprise  Mrs.  Gregory  that 
Grace  had  known  of  the  strange  presence;  the  sec 
retary  usually  knew  of  events  before  the  rest  of  the 
family. 

Gregory  continued,  delicately  picking  his  way: 


68  FRAN 

"  But  the  child  asked  to  see  me  alone,  because  she 
had  a  special  message  —  a  —  yes,  a  message  to  de 
liver  to  me.  So  I  asked  Miss  Grace  to  leave  us  for 
half  an  hour.  Then  I  heard  the  girl's  story,  while 
Miss  Grace  waited  up-stairs." 

"  Well,"  Simon  Jefferson  interposed  irritably, 
"  Miss  Grace  is  accounted  for.  Go  on,  brother-in- 
law,  go  on,  if  we  must  have  it." 

*  The  fact  is,  Lucy  — "  Gregory  at  this  point 
turned  to  his  wife  —  for  at  certain  odd  moments  he 
found  real  relief  in  doing  so — "the  fact  is  —  the 
fact  is,  this  girl  is  the  —  er  —  daughter  of  —  of  a 
very  old  friend  of  mine  —  a  friend  who  was  —  was 
a  friend  years  ago,  long  before  I  moved  to  Little- 
burg,  long  before  I  saw  you,  Lucy.  That  was  when 
my  home  was  in  New  York.  I  have  told  you  all 
about  that  time  of  my  youth,  when  I  lived  with  my 
father  in  New  York.  Well,  before  my  father  died, 
I  was  acquainted  with  —  this  friend.  I  owed  that 
person  a  great  debt,  not  of  money  —  a  debt  of  — 
what  shall  I  say?" 

Fran  suggested,  "  Honor." 

Gregory  mopped  his  brow  while  all  looked  from 
Fran  to  him.  He  resumed  desperately :  "  I  owed 
a  great  debt  to  that  friend  —  oh,  not  of  money,  of 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  69 

course  —  a  debt  which  circumstances  prevented  me 
from  paying  —  from  meeting  —  which  I  still  owe 
to  the  memory  of  that  —  er  —  of  that  dead  friend. 
The  friend  is  dead,  you  understand,  yes,  dead." 

Mrs.  Gregory  could  not  understand  her  husband's 
unaccustomed  hesitancy.  She  inquired  of  Fran, 
"  And  is  your  mother  dead,  too,  little  girl?  " 

That  simple  question,  innocently  preferred,  di 
rected  the  course  of  future  events.  Mr.  Gregory 
had  not  intentionally  spoken  of  his  friend  in  such  a 
way  as  to  throw  doubt  upon  the  sex.  Now  that 
he  realized  how  his  wife's  misunderstanding  might 
save  him,  he  had  not  the  courage  to  undeceive  her. 

Fran  waited  for  him  to  speak.  The  delay  had 
lost  him  the  power  to  reveal  the  truth.  Would 
Fran  betray  him?  He  wished  that  the  thunder 
might  drown  out  the  sound  of  her  words,  but  the 
storm  seemed  holding  its  breath  to  listen. 

Fran  said  quietly,  "  My  mother  died  three  years 
ago." 

Mrs.  Gregory  asked  her  husband,  "  Did  you  ever 
tell  me  about  this  friend?  I'd  remember  from  his 
name ;  what  was  it  ?  " 

It  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  utter  the  name 
which  had  sounded  from  his  lips  so  often  in  love. 


70  FRAN 

He  opened  his  lips,  but  he  could  not  say  "  Jose 
phine  ".  Besides,  the  last  name  would  do. 
"  Derry,"  he  gasped. 

"  Come  here,  Fran  Derry,"  said  Mrs.  Gregory, 
reaching  out  her  hand,  with  that  sweet  smile  that 
somehow  made  Fran  feel  the  dew  of  tears. 

Hamilton  Gregory  plucked  up  spirits.  "  I 
couldn't  turn  away  the  daughter  of  my  old  friend. 
You  wouldn't  want  me  to  do  that.  None  of  you 
would.  Now  that  I've  explained  everything,  I 
hope  there'll  be  no  objection  to  her  staying  here 
in  the  house  —  that  is,  if  she  wants  to  stay.  She 
has  come  to  do  it,  she  says  —  all  the  way  from 
New  York." 

Mrs.  Gregory  slipped  her  arm  about  the  inde 
pendent  shoulders,  and  drew  the  girl  down  beside 
her  upon  a  divan.  "  Do  you  know,"  she  said 
gently,  "  you  are  the  very  first  of  all  his  New  York 
friends  who  has  come  into  my  life?  Indeed,  I 
am  willing,  and  indeed  you  shall  stay  with  us,  just 
as  long  as  you  will." 

Fran  asked  impulsively,  as  she  clasped  her 
hands,  "  Do  you  think  you  could  like  me  ?  Could 
—  you?" 

"  Dear  child  " —  the  answer  was  accompanied  by 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  71 

a  gentle  pressure,  "  you  are  the  daughter  of  my 
husband's  friend.  That's  enough  for  me.  You 
need  a  home,  and  you  shall  have  one  with  us.  I 
like  you  already,  dear." 

Tears  dimmed  Fran's  eyes.  "  And  I  just  love 
you,"  she  cried.  "  My !  What  a  woman  you 
are!" 

Grace  Noir  was  silent.  She  liked  Fran  less  than 
ever,  but  her  look  was  that  of  a  hired  secretary, 
saying,  "  With  all  this,  I  have  nothing  to  do." 
Doubtless,  when  alone  with  Hamilton  Gregory,  she 
would  express  her  sincere  conviction  that  the 
girl's  presence  would  interfere  with  his  work  — 
but  these  others  would  not  understand.  They 
dwelt  entirely  apart  from  her  employer's  philan 
thropic  enterprises,  they  did  not  sympathize  with 
his  religious  activities,  or  even  read  his  weekly 
magazine.  Nobody  understood  him  as  she  did. 

Fran's  unconventionality  had  given  to  Mrs. 
Gregory's  laugh  a  girlish  note,  but  almost  at  once 
her  face  resumed  its  wonted  gravity.  Perhaps  the 
slight  hollows  in  the  cheeks  had  been  pressed  by 
the  fingers  of  care,  but  it  was  rather  lack  of  light 
than  presence  of  shadow,  that  told  Fran  something 
was  missing  from  the  woman-heart. 


72  FRAN 

In  the  meantime  old  Mrs.  Jefferson  had  been 
looking  on  with  absorbed  attention,  desperately 
seeking  to  triumph  over  her  enemy,  a  deaf  demon 
that  for  years  had  taken  possession  of  her.  Now, 
with  an  impatient  hand,  she  sent  her  wheel-chair  to 
her  daughter's  side  and  proffered  her  ear-trumpet. 

"  Mother,"  Mrs.  Gregory  called  through  this 
ebony  connector  of  souls,  "  this  is  Fran  Derry,  the 
daughter  of  Mr.  Gregory's  dear  friend,  one  he 
used  to  know  in  New  York,  many  years  before  he 
came  to  Littleburg.  Fran  is  an  orphan,  and  needs 
a  home.  We  have  asked  her  to  live  with  us." 

Mrs.  Jefferson  did  not  always  hear  aright,  but 
she  always  responded  with  as  much  spirit  as  if  her 
hearing  were  never  in  doubt.  "  And  what  I'd 
like  to  know,"  she  cried,  "  is  what  you  are  asking 
her  to  give  us." 

Grace  Noir  came  forward  with  quiet  resolution. 
"  Let  me  speak  to  your  mother,"  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Gregory. 

Mrs.  Gregory  handed  her  the  tube,  somewhat  sur 
prised,  since  Grace  made  it  a  point  of  conscience 
seldom  to  talk  to  the  old  lady.  When  Grace 
Noir  disapproved  of  any  one,  she  did  not  think  it 
right  to  conceal  that  fact.  Since  Mrs.  Jefferson 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  73 

absolutely  refused  to  attend  religious  services, 
alleging  as  excuse  that  she  could  not  hear  the 
sermon,  refusing  to  offer  up  the  sacrifice  of  her 
fleshly  presence  as  an  example  to  others, —  Grace 
disapproved  most  heartily. 

Mrs.  Jefferson  held  her  head  to  the  trumpet 
shrinkingly,  as  if  afraid  of  getting  her  ear  tickled. 

Grace  spoke  quietly,  but  distinctly,  as  she  indi 
cated  Fran — "  You  know  how  hard  it  is  to  get 
a  good  servant  in  Littleburg."  Then  she  returned 
the  trumpet.  That  was  all  she  had  to  say. 

Fran  looked  at  Mr.  Gregory. 

He  bit  his  lip,  hoping  it  might  go  at  that. 

The  old  lady  was  greatly  at  sea.  Much  as  she 
disliked  the  secretary,  her  news  was  grateful. 
"  Be  sure  to  stipulate,"  she  said  briskly,  "  about 
wheeling  me  around  in  the  garden.  The  last  one 
wasn't  told  in  the  beginning,  and  had  to  be  paid 
extra,  every  time  I  took  the  air.  There's  nothing 
like  an  understanding  at  the  beginning." 

"  I'd  like  a  beginning  of  my  sleep,"  Simon  Jef 
ferson  announced.  "  The  thunder  and  lightning's 
stopped,  and  the  sound  of  this  rain  is  just  what 
I  need,  if  the  house  will  get  quiet."  He  rose, 
gnawing  his  grizzled  beard  with  impatience. 


74  FRAN 

Fran  walked  up  to  Grace  Noir  and  shook  back 
her  hair  in  the  way  that  Grace  particularly  disliked. 
She  said :  "  Nothing  like  an  understanding  at  the 
beginning;  yes,  the  old  lady's  right.  Good  thing 
to  know  what  the  trouble  is,  so  we'll  know  how 
it'll  hit  us.  I  guess  I'm  the  trouble  for  this 
house,  but  I'm  going  to  hit  it  as  the  daughter  of  an 
old  friend,  and  not  as  a  servant.  I'm  just  about 
as  independent  as  Patrick  Henry,  Miss  Noir.  I'm 
not  responsible  for  being  born,  but  it's  my  outlook 
to  hold  on  to  my  equality." 

"  Fran !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gregory,  in  mild  re 
proof. 

Grace  looked  at  Mr.  Gregory  and  nothing 
could  have  exceeded  the  saintliness  of  her  ex 
pression.  Insulted,  she  was  enjoying  to  the  full  her 
pious  satisfaction  of  martyrdom. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Gregory,"  said  Fran  kindly,  "  I'm 
sorry  to  have  to  do  this,  but  it  isn't  as  if  you 
were  adopting  a  penniless  orphan.  I'm  adopting 
a  home.  I  want  to  belong  to  somebody,  and  I  want 
people  to  feel  that  they  have  something  when  they 
have  me." 

"  I  reckon  they'll  know  they've  got  something," 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  75 

remarked  Simon  Jefferson,  shooting  a  dissatisfied 
glance  at  Fran  from  under  bushy  brows. 

Fran  laughed  outright.  "  I'm  going  to  like  you, 
all  right,"  she  declared.  "  You  are  so  human." 

It  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  maintain  satisfac 
tion  in  silent  martyrdom.  Grace  was  obliged  to 
speak,  lest  any  one  think  that  she  acquiesced  in 
evil.  "  Is  it  customary  for  little  girls  to  roam  the 
streets  at  night,  wandering  about  the  world  alone, 
adopting  homes  according  to  their  whims  ?  " 

"  I  really  don't  think  it  customary,"  Fran  re 
plied  politely,  "  but  I'm  not  a  customary  girl." 
At  that  moment  she  caught  the  old  lady's  eye.  It 
was  sparkling  with  eloquent  satisfaction;  Mrs. 
Jefferson  supposed  terms  of  service  were  under 
discussion.  Fran  laughed,  grabbed  the  ear- 
trumpet  and  called,  "  Hello.  How  are  you?  " 

When  an  unknown  voice  entered  the  large  end 
of  the  tube,  half  its  meaning  was  usually  strained 
away  before  the  rest  reached  the  yearning  ear. 
Mrs.  Jefferson  responded  eagerly,  "  And  will  you 
wheel  me  around  the  garden  at  least  twice  a 
clay?" 

Fran  patted  the  thin  old  arm  with  her  thin  young 


76  FRAN 

hand,  as  she  shouted,  "  I'll  wheel  you  twenty  times 
a  day,  if  you  say  so!  " 

"  But  I  do  not  see-saw,"  retorted  the  old  lady 
with  spirit. 

'  This  is  going  to  agitate  my  heart,"  interposed 
Simon  Jefferson,  as  there  came  a  louder  dash  of 
rain  against  the  windows.  "  I  ought  to  be  getting 
the  benefits  of  this  soothing  sound,  in  my  bed. 
When  is  this  company  going  to  break  up?  " 

Gregory,  finding  Grace's  eyes  fixed  on  him 
searchingly,  felt  himself  pushed  to  the  wall.  "  Of 
course,"  he  said  coldly,  "  it  is  understood  that  the 
daughter  of  —  er  —  my  friend,  comes  here  as  a 
—  as  an  equal."  As  he  found  himself  forced  into 
definite  opposition  to  his  secretary,  his  manner 
grew  more  assured.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  was,  in  a  way,  atoning  for  the  past. 

"As  an  equal,  yes!"  exclaimed  his  wife,  again 
embracing  Fran.  "  How  else  could  it  be?  " 

'  This  is  going  to  be  a  good  thing  for  you,  if 
you  only  knew  it,"  Fran  said,  looking  into  her  face 
with  loving  eyes. 

Hamilton  Gregory  was  almost  able  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  had  received  the  orphan  of  his  own 
free  choice,  thus  to  make  reparation.  "  It  is  my 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  77 

duty,"  he  said ;  "  and  I  always  try  to  do  my  duty, 
as  I  see  it." 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  more  about  me  ?  " 
Fran  asked  confidentially  of  Mrs.  Gregory. 

Gregory  turned  pale.  "  I  don't  think  it  is 
neces  — " 

"  Do  tell  me!  "  exclaimed  his  wife. 

"  Oh,  Lord !  "  murmured  Simon  Jefferson,  sink 
ing  back  into  the  hall  chair. 

"  Father  and  mother  married  secretly,"  Fran 
said,  solely  addressing  Mrs.  Gregory,  but  occa 
sionally  sending  a  furtive  glance  at  her  husband. 
"  He  was  a  college-student,  boarding  with  his 
cousin,  who  was  one  of  the  professors.  Mother 
was  an  orphan  and  lived  with  her  half-uncle, —  a 
mighty  crusty  old  man,  Uncle  Ephraim  was,  who 
didn't  have  one  bit  of  use  for  people  getting  mar 
ried  in  secret.  Father  and  mother  agreed  not  to 
mention  their  marriage  till  after  his  graduation; 
then  he'd  go  to  his  father  and  make  everything 
easy,  and  come  for  mother.  So  he  went  and  told 
him  —  father's  father  was  a  millionaire  on  Wall 
Street.  Mother's  uncle  was  pretty  well  fixed,  too, 
but  he  didn't  enjoy  anything  except  religion. 
When  he  wasn't  at  church  —  he  went  'most  all 


78  FRAN 

the  time  —  he  was  reading  about  it.  Mother  said 
he  was  most  religious  in  Hebrew,  but  he  enjoyed 
his  Greek  verbs  awfully." 

Grace  Noir  asked  remotely,  "  Did  you  say  that 
your  parents  eloped?  " 

"  They  didn't  run  far,"  Fran  explained ;  "  they 
were  married  in  the  county,  not  far  from  Spring 
field—" 

"  I  thought  you  said,"  Grace  interrupted,  "  that 
they  were  in  New  York." 

"Did  you?"  said  Fran  politely.  "So  father 
graduated,  and  went  away  to  tell  his  father  all  about 
being  married  to  Josephine  Derry.  I  don't  know 
what  happened  then,  as  he  didn't  come  back  to 
tell.  My  mother  waited  and  waited  —  and  I  was 
born  —  and  then  Uncle  Ephraim  drove  mother  out 
of  his  house  with  her  tiny  baby  —  that's  me  — 
and  I  grew  to  be  —  as  old  as  you  see  me  now.  We 
were  always  hunting  father.  We  went  all  over 
the  United  States,  first  and  last  —  it  looked  like 
the  son  of  a  millionaire  ought  to  be  easy  to  find. 
But  he  kept  himself  close,  and  there  was  never  a 
clue.  Then  mother  died.  Sometimes  she  used  to 
tell  me  that  she  believed  him  dead,  that  if  he'd  been 
alive  he'd  have  come  for  her,  because  she  loved  him 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  79 

with  all  her  soul,  and  wrecked  her  whole  life  be 
cause  of  him.  She  was  happiest  when  she 
thought  he  was  dead,  so  I  wouldn't  say  anything, 
but  I  was  sure  he  was  alive,  all  right,  as  big  and 
strong  as  you  please.  Oh,  /  know  his  kind.  I've 
had  lots  of  experience." 

"  So  I'd  suppose,"  said  Grace  Noir  quietly. 
"May  I  ask  —  if  you  don't  mind  —  if  this  travel 
ing  about  the  United  States  didn't  take  a  great 
deal  of  money?  " 

"  Oh,  we  had  all  the  money  we  wanted,"  Fran 
returned  easily. 

"  Indeed  ?  And  did  you  become  reconciled  to 
your  mother's  uncle  ?  " 

'  Yes  —  after  he  was  dead.  He  didn't  leave  a 
will,  and  there  wasn't  anybody  else,  and  as  mother 
had  just  been  taken  from  me,  the  money  just 
naturally  came  in  my  hands.  But  I  didn't  need 
it,  particularly." 

"But  before  that,"  Grace  persisted;  "before, 
when  your  mother  was  first  disinherited,  how  could 
she  make  her  living?  " 

"  Mother  was  like  me.  She  didn't  stand 
around  folding  her  hands  and  crossing  her  feet  — 
she  used  'em.  Bless  you,  I  could  get  along 


8o  FRAN 

wherever  you'd  drop  me.  Success  isn't  in  the 
world,  it's  in  me,  and  that's  a  good  thing  to  know 
—  it  saves  hunting." 

"Do  you  consider  yourself  a  'success'?"  in 
quired  the  secretary  with  a  chilly  smile. 

"  I  had  everything  I  wanted  except  a  home," 
Fran  responded  with  charming  good-humor,  "  and 
now  I've  got  that.  In  a  New  York  paper,  I 
found  a  picture  of  Hamilton  Gregory,  and  it  told 
about  all  his  charities.  It  said  he  had  millions, 
and  was  giving  away  everything.  I  said  to  myself, 
'  I'll  go  there  and  have  him  give  me  a  home  ' —  you 
see,  I'd  often  heard  mother  speak  of  him  —  and 
I  said  other  things  to  myself  —  and  then,  as  I 
generally  do  what  I  tell  myself  to  do  —  it  keeps 
up  confidence  in  the  general  manager  —  I  came." 

"  Dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Gregory,  stroking  her 
hair,  "  your  mother  dead,  your  father  —  that 
kind  of  a  man  —  you  shall  indeed  find  a  home  with 
us,  for  life.  And  so  your  father  was  Mr. 
Gregory's  friend.  It  seems  —  strange." 

"  My  father,"  said  Fran,  looking  at  Mr. 
Gregory  inscrutably,  "  was  the  best  friend  you  ever 
had,  wasn't  he?  You  loved  him  better  than  any 
body  else  in  the  world,  didn't  you?  " 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  81 

"I  —  I  —  yes,"  the  other  stammered,  looking 
at  her  wildly,  and  passing  his  agitated  hand  across 
his  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  some  terrible  vision, 
"  yes,  I  —  I  was  —  er  —  fond  of  —  him." 

"  I  guess  you  were/'  Fran  cried  emphatically. 
"  You'd  have  done  anything  for  him." 

"  I  have  this  to  say,"  remarked  Simon  Jeffer 
son,  "  that  I  may  not  come  up  to  the  mark  in  all 
particulars,  and  I  reckon  I  have  my  weaknesses; 
but  I  wouldn't  own  a  friend  that  proved  himself 
the  miserable  scoundrel,  the  weak  cur,  that  this 
child's  father  proved  himself!  " 

"  And  I  agree  with  you,"  declared  Grace,  who 
seldom  agreed  with  him  in  anything.  How  Mr. 
Gregory,  the  best  man  she  had  ever  known,  could 
be  fond  of  Fran's  father,  was  incomprehensible. 
Ever  since  Fran  had  come  knocking  at  the  door, 
Grace's  exalted  faith  in  Mr.  Gregory  had  been 
perplexed  by  the  foreboding  that  he  was  not  alto 
gether  what  she  had  imagined. 

Hamilton  Gregory  felt  the  change  in  her  atti 
tude.  "  That  friend,"  he  said  quickly,  "  was  not 
altogether  to  be  censured.  At  least,  he  meant  to 
do  right.  He  wanted  to  do  right.  With  all  the 
strength  of  his  nature,  he  strove  to  do  right." 


82  FRAN 

"  Then  why  didn't  he  do  right?  "  snapped  Simon 
Jefferson.  "  Why  didn't  he  go  back  after  that 
young  woman,  and  take  care  of  her?  Huh? 
What  was  holding  him  ?  " 

"  He  did  go  back,"  exclaimed  Gregory.  "  Well 
—  not  at  first,  but  afterward.  He  went  to  tell 
his  father,  and  his  father  showed  him  that  it 
would  never  do,  that  the  girl  —  his  wife  —  wasn't 
of  their  sphere,  their  life,  that  he  couldn't  have 
made  her  happy  —  that  it  wouldn't  —  that  it  just 
wouldn't  do.  For  three  years  he  stayed  in  the 
mountains  of  Germany,  the  most  miserable  man  in 
the  world.  But  his  conscience  wouldn't  let  him 
rest.  It  told  him  he  should  acknowledge  his  wife. 
So  he  went  back  —  but  she'd  disappeared  —  he 
couldn't  find  her  —  and  he'd  never  heard  —  he'd 
never  dreamed  of  the  birth  of  a  —  of  the  —  of 
this  girl.  He  never  knew  that  he  had  a  daughter. 
Never!" 

"  Well,"  said  Simon  Jefferson,  "  he's  dead  now, 
and  that's  one  comfort.  Good  thing  he's  not  alive ; 
I'd  always  be  afraid  I  might  come  up  with  him 
and  then,  afterward,  that  I  might  not  get  my  sen 
tence  commuted  to  life-imprisonment." 

"Who  is  exciting  my  son?"  demanded  the  old 


A  FAMILY  CONFERENCE  83 

lady  from  her  wheel-chair.  Simon  Jefferson's  red 
face  and  starting  eyes  told  plainly  that  his  spirit 
was  up.  There  was  silence  out  of  respect  for  his 
weak  heart,  but  there  was  a  general  feeling  of  sur 
prise  that  Gregory  should  so  determinedly  defend 
his  friend. 

"  After  all,"  said  Fran  cheerfully,  "  we  are 
here,  and  needn't  bother  about  what's  past.  My 
mother  wasn't  given  her  chance,  but  she's  dead  now, 
blessed  soul  —  and  my  father  had  his  chance,  but 
it  wasn't  in  him  to  be  a  man.  Let's  forget  him 
as  much  as  we  can,  and  let's  have  nothing  but 
sweet  and  peaceful  thoughts  about  mother.  That's 
all  over,  and  I'm  here  to  take  my  chance  with  the 
rest  of  you.  We're  the  world,  while  our  day  lasts." 

"  What  a  remarkable  child !  "  murmured  Grace 
Noir,  as  they  prepared  to  separate.  "  Quite  a 
philosopher  in  short  dresses." 

"  They  used  to  call  me  a  prodigy,"  murmured 
Fran,  as  she  obeyed  Mrs.  Gregory's  gesture  inviting 
her  to  follow  up-stairs. 

"  Now  it's  stopped  raining,"  Simon  Jefferson 
complained,  as  he  wheeled  his  mother  toward  the 
back  hall. 

"  That's  a  good  omen,"  said  Fran,  pressing  Mrs. 


84  FRAN 

Gregory's  hand.  "  The  moonlight  was  beautiful 
when  I  was  on  the  bridge  —  when  I  first  came 
here." 

"  But  we  need  rain,"  said  Grace  Noir  reprov 
ingly.  Her  voice  was  that  of  one  familiar  with 
the  designs  of  Providence.  As  usual,  she  and 
Hamilton  Gregory  were  about  to  be  left  alone. 

"Who  needs  it?"  called  the  unabashed  Fran, 
looking  over  the  banisters.  "The  frogs?" 

"  Life,"  responded  the  secretary  somberly. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WAR   DECLARED 

/"T"*HE  April  morning  was  brimming  with  golden 
sunshine  when  Fran  looked  from  the  window 
of  her  second-story  room.  Between  two  black 
streamers  left  from  last  night's  rain-clouds,  she 
found  the  sun  making  its  way  up  an  aisle  of  in 
tense  blue.  Below,  the  lawn  stretched  in  level 
greenness  from  Hamilton  Gregory's  residence  to 
the  street,  and  the  grass,  fresh  from  the  care  of 
the  lawn-mower,  mixed  yellow  tints  of  light  with 
its  emerald  hue.  Shadows  from  the  tender  young 
leaves  decorated  the  whiteness  of  the  smooth  vil 
lage  road  in  dainty  tracery,  and  splashed  the  ribbons 
of  rain-drenched  granitoid  walks  with  warm 
shadow-spray. 

Fran,  eager  for  the  first  morning's  view  of  her 

new    home,    stared    at    the    half-dozen    cottages 

across   the   street,   standing  back  in   picket-fenced 

yards  with  screens  of  trees  before  their  window- 

85 


86  FRAN 

eyes.  They  showed  only  as  bits  of  weather-board 
ing,  or  gleaming  fragments  of  glass,  peeping 
through  the  boughs.  At  one  place,  nothing  was  to 
be  seen  but  stone  steps  and  a  chimney;  at  another, 
there  was  an  open  door  and  a  flashing  broom ;  or  a 
curl  of  smoke  and  a  face  at  a  window.  She 
thought  everything  homelike,  neighborly.  These 
houses  seemed  to  her  closer  to  the  earth  than  those 
of  New  York,  or,  at  any  rate,  closer  in  the  sense 
of  brotherhood.  She  drew  a  deep  breath  of  pun 
gent  April  essence  and  murmured :  "  What  a 
world  to  live  in !  " 

Fran  had  spoken  in  all  sincerity  when  declaring 
that  she  wanted  nothing  but  a  home;  and  when 
she  went  down  to  breakfast  it  was  with  the  ex 
pectation  that  every  member  of  the  family  would 
pursue  his  accustomed  routine,  undeflected  by  her 
presence.  She  was  willing  that  they  should  re 
main  what  they  were,  just  as  she  expected  to  con 
tinue  without  change;  however,  not  many  days 
passed  before  she  found  herself  seeking  to  modify 
her  surroundings.  If  a  strange  mouse  be  impris 
oned  in  a  cage  of  mice,  those  already  inured  to 
captivity  will  seek  to  destroy  the  new-comer. 
Fran,  suddenly  thrust  into  the  bosom  of  a  family 


WAR  DECLARED  87 

already  fixed  in  their  modes  of  thought  and  action, 
found  adjustment  exceedingly  difficult. 

She  did  not  care  to  mingle  with  the  people 
of  the  village  —  which  was  fortunate,  since  her 
laughing  in  the  tent  had  scandalized  the  neighbor 
hood  ;  she  would  have  been  content  never  to  cross  the 
boundaries  of  the  homestead,  had  it  not  been  for 
Abbott  Ashton.  It  was  because  of  him  that  she 
acquiesced  in  the  general  plan  to  send  her  to 
school.  In  the  unanimous  conviction  of  the  need 
of  change  in  Fran,  and  because  there  were  still 
two  months  of  school,  she  must  pass  through  this 
two-months'  wringer  —  she  might  not  acquire 
polish,  but  the  family  hoped  some  crudities  might 
be  squeezed  out.  It  was  on  the  fifth  day  of  her 
stay,  following  her  startling  admission  that  she 
had  never  been  to  school  a  day  in  her  life,  that 
unanimous  opinion  was  fused  into  expressed  com 
mand  — 

"  You  must  go  to  school !  " 

Fran  thought  of  the  young  superintendent,  and 
said  she  was  willing. 

When  Mr.  Gregory  and  the  secretary  had  re 
tired  to  the  library  for  the  day's  work,  Mrs. 
Gregory  told  Fran,  "  I  really  think,  dear,  that  your 


88  FRAN 

dresses  are  much  too  short.  You  are  small,  but 
your  face  and  manners  and  even  your  voice,  some 
times,  seem  old  —  quite  old." 

Fran  showed  the  gentle  lady  a  soft  docility. 
"  Well,"  she  said,  "  my  legs  are  there,  all  the  time, 
you  know,  and  I'll  show  just  as  much  of  them,  or 
just  as  little,  as  you  please." 

Simon  Jefferson  spoke  up  — "  I  like  to  see  chil 
dren  wear  short  dresses—  "  and  he  looked  at  this 
particular  child  with  approval.  That  day,  she  was 
really  pretty.  The  triangle  had  been  broadened  to 
an  oval  brow,  the  chin  was  held  slightly  lowered, 
and  there  was  something  in  her  general  aspect, 
possibly  due  to  the  arrangement  of  folds  or  colors 
—  heaven  knows  what,  for  Simon  Jefferson  was 
but  a  poor  male  observer  —  that  made  a  merit  of 
her  very  thinness.  The  weak  heart  of  the  burly 
bachelor  tingled  with  pleasure  in  nice  proportions, 
while  his  mind  attained  the  aesthetic  outlook  of  a 
classic  age.  To  be  sure,  the  skirts  did  show  a 
good  deal  of  Fran;  very  good  —  they  could  not 
show  too  much. 

"  I  like,"  Simon  persisted,  "  to  see  young  girls 
of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  dressed,  so  to  say,  in  low 
necks  and  high  stockings  in  —  er  —  in  the  airy  way 


WAR  DECLARED  89 

such  as  they  are  by  nature  .  .  ."  It  was  hard 
to  express. 

"  Yes,"  Fran  said  impartially,  "  it  pleases  others, 
and  it  doesn't  hurt  me." 

"  Fran !  "  Mrs.  Gregory  exclaimed,  gazing  help 
lessly  at  the  girl  with  something  of  a  child's  awe 
inspired  by  venerable  years.  It  was  a  pathetic  ap 
peal  to  a  spirit  altogether  beyond  her  comprehen 
sion. 

Fran's  quick  eye  caught  the  expression  of  baffled 
reaching- forth,  of  uncertain  striving  after  sympa 
thetic  understanding.  "  You  darling  lady !  "  she 
cried,  clasping  her  hands  to  keep  her  arms  from 
flying  about  the  other's  neck,  "  don't  you  be 
troubled  about  me.  Bless  your  heart,  I  can  take 
care  of  myself  —  and  you,  too!  Do  you  think  I'd 
add  a  straw  to  your  .  .  .  Now  you  hear  me: 
if  you  want  to  do  it,  just  put  me  in  long  trains 
with  Pullman  sleepers,  for  I'm  the  little  girl  for 
you,  dear  heart,  and  I'll  do  whatever  you  say.  If 
you  want  to  show  people  how  tame  I  am,  just 
hold  up  your  hand,  and  I'll  crawl  into  my  cage." 

The  laughter  of  Mrs.  Gregory  sounded  whole 
some  and  deep-throated  —  the  child  was  so  deli- 
ciously  ridiculous.  "  Come,  then,"  she  cried,  with 


90  FRAN 

a  lightness  she  had  not  felt  for  months,  "  come, 
crawl  into  your  cage !  "  And  she  opened  her  arms. 

With  a  flash  of  her  lithe  body,  Fran  was  in  her 
cage,  and,  for  a  time,  rested  there,  while  the  fire  in 
her  dark  eyes  burned  tears  to  all  sorts  of  rainbow 
colors.  It  seemed  to  her  that  of  all  the  people  in 
the  world,  Mrs.  Gregory  was  the  last  to  hold  her 
in  affectionate  embrace.  She  cried  out  with  a  sob, 
as  if  in  answer  to  her  dark  misgivings  — "  Oh,  but 
I  want  to  belong  to  somebody !  " 

"You  shall  belong  to  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Gregory,  folding  her  closer. 

"  To  you  ?  "  Fran  sobbed,  overcome  by  the  won 
der  of  it.  "To  you,  dear  heart?"  With  a 
desperate  effort  she  crowded  back  intruding 
thoughts,  and  grew  calm.  Looking  over  her 
shoulder  at  Simon  Jefferson  — "  No  more  short 
dresses,  Mr.  Simon,"  she  called,  "you  know  your 
heart  mustn't  be  excited." 

"  Fran ! "  gasped  Mrs.  Gregory  in  dismay, 
"hush!" 

But  Simon  Jefferson  beamed  with  pleasure  at  the 
girl's  artless  ways.  He  knew  what  was  bad  for 
his  heart,  and  Fran  wasn't.  Her  smiles  made  him 
feel  himself  a  monopolist  in  sunshine.  Simon  Jef- 


WAR  DECLARED  91 

ferson  might  be  fifty,  but  he  still  had  a  nose  for 
roses. 

Old  Mrs.  Jefferson  was  present,  and  from  her 
wheel-chair  bright  eyes  read  much  that  dull  ears 
missed.  "How  gay  Simon  is!"  smiled  the 
mother  —  he  was  always  her  spoiled  boy. 

Mrs.  Gregory  called  through  the  trumpet,  "  I 
believe  Fran  has  given  brother  a  fresh  interest  in 
life." 

Simon  nodded;  he  didn't  care  who  knew  it. 
Since  his  sister's  marriage  to  the  millionaire  philan 
thropist,  Simon  had  found  life  appallingly  dull; 
how  could  he  have  found  interest  in  the  passing 
years  without  his  heart-complaint?  Hamilton 
Gregory's  perennial  absorption  in  the  miseries  of 
folk  beyond  the  horizon,  and  lack  of  sympathy  with 
those  who  sat  at  his  table,  set  him  apart  as  a  model ; 
Simon  hated  models. 

Old  Mrs.  Jefferson  beamed  upon  Fran  and  added 
her  commendation :  "  She  pushes  me  when  I  want 
to  be  pushed,  and  pulls  me  when  I  want  to  be 
pulled." 

Fran  clapped  her  hands  like  a  child,  indeed. 
"Oh,  what  a  gay  old  world!"  she  cried.  "There 
are  so  many  people  in  it  that  like  me."  She 


92  FRAN" 

danced  before  the  old  lady,  then  wheeled  about  with 
such  energy  that  her  skirts  threatened  to  level  to 
the  breeze. 

"Don't,  don't!"  cried  Mrs.  Gregory  precipi 
tately.  "  Fran! " 

"  Bravo ! "  shouted  Simon  Jefferson.  "  En 
core!  " 

Fran  widened  her  fingers  to  push  down  the  re 
bellious  dress.  "  If  I  don't  put  leads  on  me,"  she 
said  with  contrition,  "  I'll  be  floating  away.  When 
I  feel  good,  I  always  want  to  do  something  wrong 
—  it's  awfully  dangerous  for  a  person  to  feel 
good,  I  guess.  Mrs.  Gregory,  you  say  I  can  belong 
to  you, —  when  I  think  about  that,  I  want  to  dance 

.  .  I  guess  you  hardly  know  what  it  means 
for  Fran  to  belong  to  a  person.  You're  going  to 
find  out.  Come  on,"  she  shouted  to  Mrs.  Jef 
ferson,  without  using  the  trumpet  —  always  a 
subtle  compliment  to  those  nearly  stone-deaf,  "  I 
mustn't  wheel  myself  about,  so  I'm  going  to  wheel 
you." 

As  she  passed  with  her  charge  into  the  garden, 
her  mind  was  busy  with  thoughts  of  Grace  Noir. 
Belonging  to  Mrs.  Gregory  naturally  suggested 
getting  rid  of  the  secretary.  It  would  be  exceed- 


WAR  DECLARED  93 

ingly  difficult.  "  But  two  months  ought  to  settle 
her,"  Fran  mused. 

In  the  meantime,  Grace  Noir  and  Gregory  sat 
in  the  library,  silently  turning  out  an  immense 
amount  of  work,  feeding  the  hungry  and  consoling 
the  weak  with  stroke  of  pen  and  click  of  typewriter. 
If  conversation  sometimes  trickled  across  the  dry 
expanse  of  statistical  benevolence,  it  was  never, 
on  Grace's  part,  for  pastime.  Beneath  her  words 
was  always  an  underflowing  current,  tugging  at 
the  listener  to  bear  him  away  to  her  chosen  haven. 
As  an  expert  player  of  checkers  knows  his  moves 
in  advance,  so  her  conversations,  however  brief, 
were  built  up  with  a  unity  of  purpose  which  her 
consciousness  of  purest  motives  saved  from  artifi 
ciality. 

"  About  this  case,  number  one  hundred  forty- 
three/'  she  said,  looking  up  from  her  work  as  copy 
ist,  "  the  girl  whose  father  wouldn't  acknowledge 
her  .  .  ." 

"  Write  to  the  matron  to  give  her  good  clothing 
and  good  schooling."  He  spoke  softly.  There 
prevailed  an  atmosphere  of  subtle  tenderness;  on 
this  island  —  the  library  —  blossomed  love  of 
mankind  and  devotion  to  lofty  ideals.  These  two 


94  FRAN 

mariners  found  themselves  ever  surrounded  by  a 
sea  of  indifference;  there  was  not  a  sail  in  sight. 
"  It  is  a  sad  case,"  he  murmured. 

"  You  think  number  one  hundred  forty-three  a 
sad  case?"  she  repeated,  always,  when  possible, 
building  her  next  step  out  of  the  material  furnished 
by  her  companion.  "  But  suppose  she  is  an  im 
postor.  He  says  she's  not  his  daughter,  this  num 
ber  one  hundred  forty-three.  Maybe  she  isn't. 
Would  you  call  her  conduct  sad?" 

Gregory  took  exquisite  pleasure  in  arguing  with 
Grace,  because  her  serene  assumption  of  being  in 
the  right  gave  to  her  beautiful  face  a  touch  of  the 
angelic.  "  I  should  call  it  impossible." 

"  Impossible  ?  Do  you  think  it's  impossible  that 
Fran's  deceiving  you?  How  can  you  know  that 
she  is  the  daughter  of  your  friend?  " 

He  grew  pale.  Oh,  if  he  could  have  denied 
Fran  —  if  he  could  have  joined  Grace  in  declar 
ing  her  an  impostor!  But  she  possessed  proofs 
so  irrefutable  that  safety  lay  in  admitting  her 
claim,  lest  she  prove  more  than  he  had  already 
admitted.  "  I  know  it,  absolutely.  She  is  the 
daughter  of  one  who  was  my  most  —  my  most  inti 
mate  friend." 


WAR  DECLARED  95 

Grace  repeated  with  delicate  reproof  — "  Your 
intimate  friend !  " 

"  I  know  it  was  wrong  for  him  to  desert  his 
wife." 

"  Wrong !  "  How  inadequate  seemed  that  word 
from  her  pure  lips ! 

"  But,"  he  faltered,  "  we  must  make  allowances. 
My  friend  married  Fran's  mother  in  secret  because 
she  was  utterly  worldly  —  frivolous  —  a  butterfly. 
Her  own  uncle  was  unable  to  control  her  —  to 
make  her  go  to  church.  Soon  after  the  marriage 
he  found  out  his  mistake  —  it  broke  his  heart,  the 
tragedy  of  it.  I  don't  excuse  him  for  going  away 
to  Europe — " 

"  I  am  glad  you  don't.  He  was  no  true  man, 
but  a  weakling.  I  am  glad  I  have  never  been 
thrown  with  such  a  —  a  degenerate." 

"  But,  Miss  Grace,"  he  urged  pleadingly,  "  do 
you  think  my  friend,  when  he  went  back  to  find 
her  and  she  was  gone  —  do  you  think  he  should 
have  kept  on  hunting?  Do  you  think,  Grace,  that 
he  should  have  remained  yoked  to  an  unbeliever, 
after  he  realized  his  folly?  " 

There  was  heavenly  compassion  in  her  eyes,  for 
suddenly  she  had  divined  his  purpose  in  defending 


96  FRAN 

Fran's  father.  He  was  thinking  of  his  own  wife, 
and  of  his  wife's  mother  and  brother  —  how  they 
had  ceased  to  show  sympathy  in  what  he  regarded 
as  the  essentials  of  life.  Her  silence  suggested 
that  as  she  could  not  speak  without  casting  reflection 
upon  Mrs.  Gregory,  she  would  say  nothing,  and 
this  tact  was  grateful  to  his  grieved  heart. 

To  the  degree  that  Grace  Noir  took  solemn  sat 
isfaction  in  attending  every  service  of  the  Walnut 
Street  church,  no  matter  what  the  \veather,  she  had 
grown  to  regard  non-attendants  as  untrue  soldiers, 
bivouacking  amidst  scenes  of  feasting  and  dan 
cing.  She  made  nothing  of  Mrs.  Gregory's  excuse 
that  she  stayed  at  home  with  her  mother  —  the  old 
lady  should  be  wheeled  to  the  meeting-house,  even 
if  against  her  inclinations.  As  for  the  services 
being  bad  for  Simon  Jefferson's  weak  heart, — 
she  did  not  think  they  would  hurt  his  heart  or  that 
it  would  matter  if  they  did.  Visible,  flesh-and- 
blood  presence  was  needful  to  uphold  the  institu 
tion,  and  Grace  would  have  given  more  for  one 
body  resting  upright  in  a  pew,  than  for  a  hundred 
members  who  were  there  only  "  in  the  spirit ". 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  something  very 
strange,"  Grace  said,  with  a  marked  effort  to  avoid 


WAR  DECLARED  97 

the  issue  lest  she  commit  the  indiscretion  of  blam 
ing  her  employer's  wife.  "  I  remember  having 
heard  you  say  that  when  you  were  a  young  man,  you 
left  your  father's  home  to  live  with  a  cousin  in  a 
distant  town  who  happened  to  be  a  teacher  in  a 
college,  and  that  you  were  graduated  from  his 
college.  Don't  you  think  it  marvelous,  this  claim 
of  Fran,  who  says  that  her  father,  when  a  young 
man,  went  to  live  with  a  cousin  who  was  a  college 
professor,  and  that  he  was  graduated  from  that 
college  ?  And  she  says  that  her  father's  father  was 
a  rich  man  —  just  as  yours  was  —  and  that  the 
cousin  is  dead  —  just  as  yours  is." 

At  these  piercing  words,  Gregory  bowed  his 
head  to  conceal  his  agitation.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  she  had  guessed  all  and  yet,  in  spite  of  all, 
could  use  that  tone  of  kindness?  It  burst  upon 
him  that  if  he  and  she  could  hold  this  fatal  secret 
in  common,  they  might,  in  sweetest  comradeship, 
form  an  alliance  against  fate  itself. 

She  persisted :  "  The  account  that  Fran  gives  of 
her  father  is  really  your  own  history.  What  does 
that  show  ?  " 

He  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper.  "  My  friend  and 
I  were  much  alike."  Then  he  looked  up  swiftly  to 


98  FRAN 

catch  a  look  of  comprehension  by  surprise,  if  such 
a  look  were  there. 

Grace  smiled  coolly.  "  But  hardly  identical,  I 
presume.  Don't  you  see  that  Fran  has  invented  her 
whole  story,  and  that  she  didn't  have  enough  imagi 
nation  to  keep  from  copying  after  your  biographical 
sketch  in  the  newspaper?  I  don't  believe  she  is 
your  friend's  daughter.  I  don't  believe  you 
could  ever  have  liked  the  father  of  a  girl  like  Fran, 
—  that  he  could  have  been  your  intimate  friend." 

"  Well  -  '  faltered  Gregory.  But  why  should 
he  defend  Fran? 

"  Mr.  Gregory,"  she  asked,  as  if  what  she  was 
about  to  say  belonged  to  what  had  gone  before, 
"  would  it  greatly  inconvenience  you  for  me  to 
leave  your  employment?  " 

He  was  electrified.  "  Grace !  Inconvenience 
me !  —  would  you  —  could  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  not  decided  —  not  yet.  Speaking  of 
being  yoked  with  unbelievers  —  I  have  never  told 
you  that  Mr.  Robert  Clinton  has  wanted  me  to 
marry  him.  As  long  as  he  was  outside  of  the 
church,  of  course  it  was  impossible.  But  now  that 
he  is  converted  — " 

"  Grace !  "  groaned  the  pallid  listener. 


WAR  DECLARED  99 

"  He  would  like  me  to  go  with  him  to  Chicago." 
"  But  you  couldn't  love  Bob  Clinton  —  he  isn't 

worthy  of  you,   Grace.     It's   impossible.     Heaven 

knows   I've  had  disappointments   enough  — "     He 

started  up  and  came  toward  her,  his  eyes  glowing. 

"  Will  you  make  my  life  a  complete  failure,  after 

all?" 

"  Love  him  ?  "  Grace  repeated  calmly.     "  This  is 

merely  a  question  of  doing  the  most  good." 

"  But,    Grace,   love   must   be   considered  —  if   it 

comes  too  late,   it  overturns  the  purest  purposes. 

Don't  wait  until  it's  too  late  as  I  —  as  —  I  repeat, 

until  it's  too  late." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  love." 

"  Then  let  me  teach  you,  Grace,  let  — " 

"Shall   we   not    discuss    it?"    she    said    gently. 

"  That   is   best,    I   think.     If    I    decide    to   marry 

Mr.  Clinton,  I  will  tell  you  even  before  I  tell  him. 

I   don't   know   what    I    shall   choose   as   my   best 

course." 

"  But,  Grace !    What  could  I  do  —  without  — " 
"  Shall  we  just  agree  to  say  no  more  about  it?" 

she  softly  interposed.     "  That  is  wisest  until  my 

decision  is  made.     We  were  talking  about  Fran  — 

do  you  not  think  this  a  good  opportunity  for  Mrs. 


ioo  FRAN 

Gregory  to  attend  services?  Fran  can  stay  with 
Mrs.  Jefferson." 

"  I  have  no  doubt; '  he  said,  still  agitated,  "  that 
my  wife  would  find  it  easy  enough  to  go  to  church, 
if  she  really  wanted  to  go." 

"  Mr.  Gregory!  "  she  reproved  him. 

"  Well,"  he  cried,  somewhat  defiantly,  "  don't 
you  think  she  could  go,  if  she  wanted  to?  " 

"  Well,"  Grace  answered  slowly,  "  this  girl  will 
leave  her  without  any  —  any  excuse." 

"Oh,  Miss  Grace,  if  my  wife  were  only  —  like 
you  —  I  mean,  about  going  to  church !  " 

"  I  consider  it,"  she  responded,  "  the  most  im 
portant  thing  in  the  world."  Her  emphatic  tone 
proved  her  sincerity.  The  church  on  Walnut 
Street  stood,  for  her,  as  the  ark ;  those  who  remained 
outside,  at  the  call  of  the  bell,  were  in  danger  of 
engulf  ment. 

After  a  long  silence,  Grace  looked  up  from  her 
typewriter.  "  Mr.  Gregory,"  she  said  pausingly, 
"  you  are  unhappy." 

Nothing  could  have  been  sweeter  to  him  than  her 
sympathy,  except  happiness  itself.  "  Yes,"  he 
admitted,  with  a  great  sigh,  "  I  am  very  unhappy, 
but  you  understand  me,  and  that  is  a  little  com- 


WAR  DECLARED  101 

fort.  If  you  should  marry  Bob  Clinton  —  Grace, 
tell  me  you'll  not  think  of  it  again." 

"  And  you  are  unhappy,"  said  Grace,  steadfastly 
ruling  Bob  Clinton  out  of  the  discussion,  "  on  ac 
count  of  Fran." 

He  burst  forth  impulsively  — "  Ever  since  she 
came  to  town!"  He  checked  himself.  "But  I 
owe  it  to  my  friend  to  shelter  her.  She  wants  to 
stay  and  —  and  she'll  have  to,  if  she  demands  it." 

:'  You  are  unhappy,"  Grace  quietly  pursued, 
"  because  her  character  is  already  formed,  because 
she  is  a  girl  who  laughs  at  sacred  things,  and 
mocks  the  only  true  objects  of  life.  You  know  it 
is  too  late  to  change  her,  and  you  know  her  influ 
ence  is  bad  for  —  for  everybody  in  this  house." 

"  But  it  can't  be  helped,"  he  insisted  disconso 
lately.  "If  she  wants  to  stay,  I  can't  help  it.  But, 
Grace,  you  are  right  about  her  influence.  Even  my 
wife  finds  new  strength  to  resist  what  she  knows 
to  be  her  duty,  because  the  girl  likes  her." 

"  Do  you  owe  more  to  your  dead  friend,"  Grace 
asked,  with  passionate  solemnity,  "  than  to  the  liv 
ing  God?" 

He  shrank  back.  "  But  I  can't  send  her  away," 
he  persisted  in  nervous  haste.  "  I  can't.  But 


102  FRAN 

heaven  bless  you,  Grace,  for  your  dear  thought  of 
me." 

;'  You  will  bless  me  with  more  reason,"  said 
Grace  softly,  "  when  Fran  decides  to  go  away. 
She'll  tire  of  this  house  —  I  promise  it.  She'll  go 
—  just  wait !  —  she'll  go,  as  unceremoniously  as 
she  came.  Leave  it  to  me,  Mr.  Gregory."  In  her 
earnestness  she  started  up,  and  then,  as  if  to  con 
ceal  her  growing  resolution,  she  walked  swiftly  to 
the  window  as  if  to  hold  her  manuscript  to  the 
light.  Gregory  followed  her. 

"  If  she  would  only  go!  "  he  groaned.  "  Grace! 
Do  you  think  you  could  ?  —  Yes,  I  will  leave  every 
thing  to  you." 

"  She'll  go,"  Grace  repeated  fixedly. 

The  window  at  which  they  stood  overlooked  the 
garden  into  which  Fran  had  wheeled  old  Mrs. 
Jefferson. 

Fran,  speaking  through  the  ear-trumpet  with  as 
much  caution  as  deafness  would  tolerate,  said, 
"  Dear  old  lady,  look  up  at  the  library  window, 
if  you  please,  for  the  muezzin  has  climbed  his 
minaret  to  call  to  prayers." 

Very  little  of  this  reached  its  destination  — 
muezzin  was  in  great  danger  of  complicating  mat- 


WAR  DECLARED  103 

ters,  but  the  old  lady  caught  "  library  window  ", 
and  held  it  securely.  She  looked  up.  Hamilton 
Gregory  and  Grace  Noir  were  standing  at  the  tower 
window,  to  catch  the  last  rays  of  the  sun.  The 
flag  of  truce  between  them  was  only  a  typewritten 
sheet  of  manuscript.  Grace  held  the  paper 
obliquely  toward  the  west;  Hamilton  leaned 
nearer  and,  with  his  delicate  white  finger,  pointed 
out  a  word.  Grace  nodded  her  head  in  gentle 
acquiescence. 

"  Amen,"  muttered  Fran.  "  Now  let  everybody 
sing!" 

The  choir  leader  and  his  secretary  vanished 
from  sight. 

"  Just  like  the  play  in  Hamlet,"  Fran  said  half- 
aloud.  "  And  now  that  the  inside  play  is  over,  I 
guess  it's  time  for  old  Ham  to  be  doing  some 
thing." 

Mrs.  Jefferson  gripped  the  arms  of  her  wheel 
chair  and  resumed  her  tale,  as  if  she  had  not  been 
interrupted.  It  was  of  no  interest  as  a  story,  yet 
possessed  a  sentimental  value  from  the  fact  that  all 
the  characters  save  the  raconteur  were  dead,  and 
possibly  all  but  her  forgotten.  Fran  loved  to  hear 
the  old  lady  evoke  the  shades  of  long  ago,  shades 


who  would  never  again  assume  even  the  palest  man 
ifestation  to  mortals,  when  this  old  lady  had  gone 
to  join  them. 

There  was  "  Cousin  Sarah  Tom  ",  who  had  been 
present  at  the  great  ball  in  Lexington.  "  Even 
Cousin  Sarah  Tom  wras  there,"  said  Mrs.  Jefferson, 
thus  for  ever  stamping  this  ghostly  outline  with 
greatness.  And  there  was  "  Aunt  Mandy  "  hover 
ing  on  the  outskirts  of  the  general  theme  — "  Aunt 
Mandy  was  there,  as  full  of  fun  and  mischief  as 
ever."  The  old  lady's  stories  bristled  with  such  sub 
sidiary  characters  concerning  whom  it  was  sufficient 
to  say  that  they  were  "  there  ".  Sometimes  so  many 
were  "  there  "  that  the  historian  forgot  her  original 
intention  and  wandered  aimlessly  among  irrelevant 
acquaintances. 

Usually  Fran  brought  her  back,  with  gentle  hand, 
but  to-day  she  divined  subterfuge;  the  tale  was 
meant  to  hide  Mrs.  Jefferson's  real  feelings.  Fran 
ventured  through  the  trumpet : 

"  I  wish  there  was  a  man-secretary  on  this  place, 
instead  of  a  woman." 

Mrs.  Jefferson  snatched  away  the  instrument  with 
indignation.  "What  is  that  you  say?"  she  asked, 
glaring.  "  In  bed  with  a  woman  ?  Who  ?  What 


WAR  DECLARED  105 

woman?"  Then  she  clapped  the  trumpet  to  her 
ear  as  if  defying  a  French  romance  to  do  its  worst. 

Fran  called,  "  Your  grandmother-goosey,  and  not 
so  loud,  if  you  please!  " 

The  other  drew  herself  up,  while  her  black  lace 
cap  quivered  at  every  ribbon-end.  What  was  this? 
How  dare  this  chit? 

Fran  took  the  tube  with  sudden  decisiveness. 
"  All  right,"  she  called,  "  you  can  take  it  that  way, 
if  you  want  to.  But  let  me  tell  you  one  thing,  dear 
old  soldier  —  there's  going  to  be  a  big  fight  put  up 
on  these  grounds.  I  guess  you  ought  to  stay  out 
of  it.  But  either  I  or  the  secretary  has  got  to 
git." 

Fran  was  not  unmindful  of  grammar,  even  of 
rhetoric,  on  occasion.  She  knew  there  was  no  such 
word  as  "  git ",  but  she  was  seeking  to  symbolize 
her  idea  in  sound.  As  she  closed  her  teeth,  each 
little  pearl  meeting  a  pearly  rival,  her  "  git "  had 
something  of  the  force  of  physical  ejectment. 

Behind  large  spectacle  lenses,  sparks  flashed  from 
Mrs.  Jefferson's  eyes.  She  sniffed  battle.  But  her 
tightly  compressed  lips  showed  that  she  lacked  both 
Fran's  teeth  and  Fran's  intrepidity.  One  steps  cau 
tiously  at  seventy-odd. 


106  FRAN 

Fran  comprehended.  The  old  lady  must  not  let 
it  be  suspected  that  she  was  aware  of  Gregory's  need 
of  cotton  in  straining  ears,  such  as  had  saved  Ulysses 
from  siren  voices.  The  pretense  of  observing  no 
danger  kept  the  fine  old  face  uncommonly  grim. 

"  Little  girls  shouldn't  fight,"  was  her  discreet  re 
joinder.  Then  leaning  over  the  wheel,  she  advanced 
her  snow-white  head  to  the  head  of  coal-black. 
"  Better  not  stir  up  dragons." 

Fran  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  defiantly. 
"  Bring  on  your  dragons,"  she  cried  boastfully. 
"  There's  not  one  of  'em  that  I'm  afraid  of."  She 
extended  one  leg  and  stretched  forth  her  arm.  "  I'll 
say  to  the  Dragon,  '  Stand  up  ' —  and  she'll  stand ; 
I'll  say  '  Lie  down ' —  and  down  she'll  lie.  I'll  say 
Git  —  and  she'll — "  Fran  waved  her  dragon  to 
annihilation. 

"  Goodness,"  the  old  lady  exclaimed,  getting  noth 
ing  of  this  except  the  pantomime;  that,  however, 
was  eloquent.  She  recalled  the  picture  of  David  in 
her  girlhood's  Sunday-school  book.  "  Are  you  de 
fying  the  Man  of  Gath?"  She  broke  into  a  de 
licious  smile  which  seemed  to  flood  the  wrinkles  of 
her  face  with  the  sunshine  of  many  dear  old  easy 
going  years. 


' '  Lie  down  ' — and  down  she'll  lie. 


WAR  DECLARED  107 

Fran  smote  her  forehead.  "  I  have  a  few  peb 
bles  here,"  she  called  through  the  trumpet. 

Mrs.  Jefferson  grasped  the  other's  thin  arm,  and 
said,  with  zestful  energy,  "  Let  her  have  'em,  David, 
let  her  have  'em !  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

SKIRMISHING 

TT^RAN  made  no  delay  in  planning  her  campaign 
against  Grace  Noir.  Now  that  her  position 
in  Hamilton  Gregory's  household  was  assured,  she 
resolved  to  seek  support  from  Abbott  Ashton.  That 
is  why,  one  afternoon,  Abbott  met  her  in  the  lower 
hall  of  the  public  school,  after  the  other  pupils  had 
gone,  and  supposed  he  was  meeting  her  by  acci 
dent. 

Since  their  parting  in  the  moonlight,  Abbott  had 
lost  his  vivid  impression  of  Fran.  As  superin 
tendent,  school  hours  were  fully  occupied  in  teaching 
special  classes,  overlooking  his  staff  of  teachers,  and 
punishing  such  refractory  children  as  were  relegated 
to  his  authority.  The  rest  of  the  time  was  spent  in 
pursuing  higher  education;  and  in  the  sunburst  of 
splendid  ideals,  the  mote-beam  of  a  Fran  had  floated 
and  danced  almost  unperceived. 

"  Good  evening,  Nonpareil,"  he  said,  pleased  that 
her  name  should  have  come  to  him  at  once.  His  at- 

108 


SKIRMISHING  109 

tentive  look  found  her  different  from  the  night  of 
their  meeting;  she  had  lost  her  elfish  smile  and  with 
it  the  romance  of  the  unknown  and  unexpected. 
Was  it  because,  at  half-past  four,  one's  charm  is  at 
lowest  ebb?  The  janitor  was  sweeping  down  the 
hall  stairs.  The  very  air  was  filled  with  dusty  real 
ism  —  Fran  was  no  longer  pretty ;  he  had  thought  — 

"  Then  you  haven't  forgotten  me,"  murmured 
Fran. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  proud  of  the  fact.  "  You 
have  made  your  home  with  Mr.  Gregory.  You  are 
in  Miss  Bull's  class-room.  I  knew  Mr.  Gregory 
would  befriend  you  —  he's  one  of  the  best  men  liv 
ing.  You  should  be  very  happy  there." 

"  No,"  said  Fran,  shaking  her  head  decidedly, 
"  not  happy." 

He  was  rather  glad  the  janitor  was  sweeping  them 
out  of  the  house.  "  You  must  find  it  pretty  hard,"  he 
remarked,  with  covert  reproach,  "  to  keep  from  being 
happy." 

"  It  isn't  at  all  hard  for  me,"  Fran  assured  him,  as 
she  paused  on  the  front  steps.  "  Really,  it's  easy 
to  be  unhappy  where  Miss  Grace  Noir  is." 

It  happened  that  just  then  the  name  Grace  Noir 
was  a  sort  of  talisman  opening  to  the  young  man's 


no  FRAN 

vision  the  interior  of  wonderful  treasure-caves;  it 
was  like  crying  "  Sesame!  "  to  the  very  rocks,  for 
though  he  was  not  in  love  with  Gregory's  secretary, 
he  fancied  the  day  of  fate  was  not  far  ahead. 

He  had  no  time  to  seek  fair  and  romantic  ladies. 
Five  years  ago,  Grace  Noir  had  come  from  Chicago 
as  if  to  spare  him  the  trouble  of  a  search.  Fate 
seemed  to  thrust  her  between  his  eyes  and  the  pages 
of  his  text-books.  At  church,  which  he  attended  reg 
ularly,  Grace  was  always  present,  and  to  gaze  at 
her  angelic  face  was,  in  itself,  almost  a  religious  ex 
ercise.  Abbott  never  felt  so  unworthy  as  when  in 
her  presence;  an  unerring  instinct  seemed  to  have 
provided  her  with  an  absolute  standard  of  right 
and  wrong,  and  she  was  so  invariably  right  that  no 
human  affection  was  worthy  of  her  unless  refined 
seven  times.  Within  himself,  Abbott  discovered 
dross. 

"  Try  to  be  a  good  girl,  Fran,"  he  counseled. 
"  Be  good,  and  your  association  with  Miss  Noir  will 
prove  the  happiest  experience  of  your  life." 

"  Be  good,"  she  returned  mockingly,  "  and  you 
will  be  Miss  Noir."  Then  she  twisted  her  mouth. 
"  She  makes  me  feel  like  tearing  up  things.  I  don't 
like  her.  I  hoped  you'd  be  on  my  side." 


SKIRMISHING  in 

He  came  down  the  steps  gravely.  "  She  is  my 
friend." 

"  I'm  a  good  deal  like  you,"  Fran  declared,  fol 
lowing.  "I  can  like  most  anything  and  anybody; 
but  I  can't  go  that  far.  Well,  I  don't  like  Miss  Noir 
and  she  doesn't  like  me  —  isn't  that  fair  ?  " 

"  Examine  yourself,"  he  advised,  "  and  find  out 
what  it  is  in  you  that  she  doesn't  like;  then  get  rid 
of  what  you  find." 

"  Huh !  "  Fran  exclaimed,  "  I'm  going  to  get  rid 
of  her,  all  right." 

He  saw  the  old  elfish  smile  now  when  he  least 
wanted  to  see  it,  for  it  threatened  the  secretary, 
mocked  the  grave  superintendent,  and  asserted  the 
girl's  right  to  like  whom  she  pleased.  Self-respect 
and  loyalty  to  Grace  hastened  Abbott's  departure, 
leaving  the  spirit  of  mockery  to  escape  the  janitor's 
broom  as  best  it  might. 

Fran  escaped,  recognizing  defeat;  but  on  her 
homeward  way,  she  was  already  preparing  her 
self  for  the  next  move.  So  intent  was  she  in 
estimating  the  forces  on  both  sides,  that  she  gave 
no  heed  to  the  watchful  faces  at  cottage  windows, 
she  did  not  recognize  the  infrequent  passers-by,  nor 
observe  the  occasional  buggies  that  creaked  along 


112  FRAN 

the  rutted  road.  With  Grace  stood,  of  course,  Ham 
ilton  Gregory;  and,  judging  from  Bob  Clinton's 
regular  visits,  and  his  particular  attentions  to  Grace, 
Fran  classed  him  also  as  a  victim  of  the  enemy.  It 
now  seemed  that  Abbott  Ashton  followed  the  flag 
Noir;  and  behind  these  three  leaders,  massed  the 
congregation  of  Walnut  Street  church,  and  presum 
ably  the  town  of  Littleburg. 

Fran  could  count  for  her  support  an  old  bachelor 
with  a  weak  heart,  and  an  old  lady  with  an  ear- 
trumpet.  The  odds  were  terribly  against  her. 

Absolutely  neutral  stood  the  one  most  vitally  con 
cerned  in  the  struggle  about  to  take  place.  Like  the 
king  of  a  chess-board,  Mrs.  Gregory  was  resolved, 
it  would  appear,  to  take  not  even  the  one  step  within 
royal  prerogative.  Fran  wondered,  her  brow  creas 
ing  in  baffled  perplexity,  if  it  ever  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Gregory  that  her  husband  might,  say  at  some  far, 
far  distant  day,  grow  too  much  interested  in  his  sec 
retary?  Did  the  wife  perceive  his  present  rate  of 
interest,  and  fancy,  at  that  rate,  that  he  might  not 
reach  a  point  beyond  prudence?  Surely  she  must 
realize  that,  in  the  family  economy,  the  secretary 
might  be  spared ;  but  if  so,  she  made  no  sign. 

The  first  light  skirmish  between  Fran  and  Grace 


SKIRMISHING  113 

took  place  on  Sunday.  All  the  Gregory  household 
were  at  a  late  breakfast.  Sunday-school  bells  were 
ringing  their  first  call,  and  there  was  not  a  cloud 
in  the  heavens  as  big  as  a  man's  hand,  to  furnish 
excuse  for  non-attendance. 

The  secretary  fired  the  first  shot.  Apropos  of 
nothing  that  had  gone  before,  but  as  if  it  were  an 
integral  part  of  the  conversation,  she  offered  — 
"  And,  Mrs.  Gregory,  it  is  so  nice  that  you  can  go 
to  church  now,  since,  if  Fran  doesn't  want  to  go, 
herself  — " 

"  Which  she  doesn't,  herself,"  Fran  interjected. 

"  So  I  presumed,"  Grace  remarked  significantly. 
"  Mrs.  Gregory,  Fran  can  stay  with  your  mother  — 
since  she  doesn't  care  for  church  —  and  you  can  at 
tend  services  as  you  did  when  I  first  came  to  Little- 
burg." 

"  I  am  sure,"  Mrs.  Gregory  said  quietly,  "  that  it 
would  be  much  better  for  Fran  to  go  to  church. 
She  ought  to  go  —  I  don't  like  to  think  of  her  stay 
ing  away  from  the  services  —  and  my  duty  is  with 
mother." 

Grace  said  nothing,  but  the  expression  of  her 
mouth  seemed  to  cry  aloud.  Duty,  indeed !  What 
did  Mrs.  Gregory  know  about  duty,  neglecting  the 


114  FRAN 

God  who  had  made  her,  to  stay  with  an  old  lady  who 
ought  to  be  wheeled  to  church !  Mrs.  Gregory  was 
willing  for  her  husband  to  fight  his  Christian  war 
fare  alone.  But  alone  ?  No !  not  while  Grace  could 
go  with  him.  If  all  the  rest  of  Walnut  Street 
church  should  remain  in  tents  of  indifference,  she 
and  Hamilton  Gregory  would  be  found  on  the  field. 

Gregory  coldly  addressed  Fran :  "  Then,  will  you 
go  to  church  ?  "  It  was  as  if  he  complained,  "  Since 
my  wife  won't  — " 

"  I  might  laugh,"  said  Fran.  "  I  don't  under 
stand  religion." 

Grace  felt  her  purest  ideals  insulted.  She  rose, 
a  little  pale,  but  without  rudeness.  "  Will  you 
please  excuse  me  ?  "  she  asked  with  admirable  re 
straint. 

"  Miss  Grace !  "  Hamilton  Gregory  exclaimed,  dis 
tressed.  That  she  should  be  driven  from  his  table 
by  an  insult  to  their  religion  was  intolerable.  "  Miss 
Grace  —  forgive  her." 

Mrs.  Gregory  was  pale,  for  she,  too,  had  felt  the 
blow.  "Fran!"  she  exclaimed  reproachfully. 

Old  Mrs.  Jefferson  stared  from  the  girl  seated  at 
the  table  to  the  erect  secretary,  and  her  eyes  kindled 


SKIRMISHING  115 

with  admiration.  Had  Fran  commanded  the 
"  dragon  "  to  "  stand  "  ? 

Simon  Jefferson  held  his  head  close  to  his  plate, 
as  if  hoping  the  storm  might  pass  over  his  head. 

"  Don't  go  away !  "  Fran  cried,  overcome  at  sight 
of  Mrs.  Gregory's  distress.  "  Sit  down,  Miss  Noir. 
Let  me  be  the  one  to  leave  the  room,  since  it  isn't 
big  enough  for  both  of  us."  She  darted  up,  and 
ran  to  the  head  of  the  table. 

Mrs.  Gregory  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Don't  you  bother  about  me,"  Fran  coaxed ; 
"  to  think  of  giving  you  pain,  dear  lady !  I  wouldn't 
hurt  you  for  anything  in  the  world,  and  the  person 
who  would  isn't  worthy  of  being  touched  by  my 
foot,"  and  Fran  stamped  her  foot.  "If  it'll  make 
you  a  mite  happier,  I'll  go  to  church,  and  Sunday- 
school,  and  prayer  meeting,  and  the  young  people's 
society,  and  the  Ladies'  Aid,  and  the  missionary  so 
ciety,  and  the  choir  practice,  and  the  night  service 
and  —  and  — " 

Hamilton  Gregory  felt  that  he  should  take  some 
part  in  this  small  drama,  but  he  did  not  know  ex 
actly  what  part :  "  It  would  make  us  all  happier  for 
you  to  go.  And  what  is  far  more  important,  child, 


n6  FRAN 

it  would  make  you  happier;  you'd  be  learning  how 
to  do  right,  and  be  good." 

"Oh,  and  would  it?"  she  flashed  at  him,  some 
what  incoherently.  "  Yes,  I  know  some  folks  think 
it  makes  'em  good  just  to  sit  in  meeting-houses, 
while  somebody's  talking  about  religion.  But  look 
at  me.  Why!  the  people  who  ought  to  have  loved 
me,  and  cared  for  my  mother  —  the  people  that 
didn't  know  but  what  we  were  starving  —  they 
wouldn't  have  missed  a  service  any  sooner  than  you 
would ;  no,  sir.  I  want  to  tell  you,"  Fran  cried,  her 
face  flaming,  her  voice  vibrating  with  emotion  long 
pent-up,  "  just  the  reason  that  religion's  nothing  to 
me.  It's  because  the  only  kind  I've  known  is  going 
to  the  church,  dressed  up,  and  sitting  in  the  church 
feeling  pious  —  and  then,  on  the  outside,  and  be 
tween  times,  being  just  as  grasping,  and  as  anxious 
to  overreach  everybody  else,  and  trying  just  as  hard 
to  get  even  with  their  enemies,  as  if  there  wasn't  a 
church  on  the  ground." 

"  This  is  sacrilege !  "  gasped  Hamilton  Gregory. 

"  You  show  me  a  little  religion,"  Fran  cried,  car 
ried  beyond  herself,  "  that  means  doing  something 
besides  ringing  bells  and  hiring  preachers ;  you  show 
me  a  little  religion  that  means  making  people  happy 


SKIRMISHING  117 

—  not  people  clear  out  of  sight,  but  those  living  in 
your  own  house  —  and  maybe  I'll  like  it  and  want 
some  of  it.  Got  any  of  that  kind?  But  if  I  stay 
here,  I'll  say  too  much  —  I'll  go,  so  you  can  all  be 
good  together-  She  darted  from  the  room. 

Grace  looked  at  Gregory,  seeming  to  ask  him  if, 
after  this  outrageous  behavior,  he  would  suffer  Fran 
to  dwell  under  his  roof.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Gregory 
did  not  count ;  Grace  made  no  attempt  to  understand 
this  woman  who,  while  seemingly  of  a  yielding  na 
ture,  could  show  such  hardness,  such  a  fixed  purpose 
in  separating  herself  from  her  husband's  spiritual 
adventures.  It  made  Grace  feel  so  sorry  for  the 
husband  that  she  quietly  resumed  her  place  at  the 
table. 

Grace  was  now  more  than  ever  resolved  that  she 
would  drive  Fran  away  —  it  had  become  a  religious 
duty.  How  could  it  be  accomplished?  The  way 
was  already  prepared;  the  secretary  was  convinced 
that  Fran  was  an  impostor.  It  was  merely  needful 
to  prove  that  the  girl  was  not  the  daughter  of  Greg 
ory's  dead  friend.  Grace  would  have  to  delve  into 
the  past,  possibly  visit  the  scenes  of  Gregory's  youth 
-but  it  would  pay.  She  looked  at  her  employer 
with  an  air  suggesting  protection. 


ii8  FRAN 

Gregory's  face  relaxed  on  finding  himself  once 
more  near  her.  Fortunately  for  his  peace  of  mind, 
he  could  not  read  the  purpose  hidden  behind  those 
beautiful  eyes. 

"  I  wonder,"  Simon  Jefferson  growled,  "  why 
somebody  doesn't  badger  me  to  go  to  church !  "  In 
dignant  because  Fran  had  fled  the  pleasing  fields  of 
his  interested  vision,  he  paused,  as  if  to  invite  an 
tagonism  ;  but  all  avoided  the  anticlimax. 

He  announced,  "This  talk  has  excited  me.  If 
we  can't  live  and  let  live,  I'll  go  and  take  my  meals 
at  Miss  Sapphira  Clinton's." 

No  one  dared  to  answer  him,  not  even  Grace.  He 
marched  into  the  garden  where  Fran  sat  huddled 
upon  a  rustic  bench.  "  I  was  just  saying,"  Simon 
told  her  ingratiatingly,  "  that  if  all  this  to-do  over 
religion  isn't  put  a  stop  to,  I'll  take  my  meals  at 
the  Clintons' !  " 

Fran  looked  up  at  him  without  moving  her  chin 
from  her  palms,  and  asked  as  she  tried,  apparently, 
to  tie  her  feet  into  a  knot,  "  Isn't  that  where  Abbott 
Ashton  boards  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  Professor  Ashton  ?  "  he  returned, 
with  subtle  reproof. 


SKIRMISHING  119 

Fran,  still  dejected,  nodded  carelessly.  "  We're 
both  after  the  same  man." 

Simon  lit  the  pipe  which  his  physician  had  warned 
him  was  bad  for  his  heart  "  Yes,  Professor  Ash- 
ton  boards  at  the  Clintons'." 

"Must  be  awfully  jolly  at  the  Clintons',"  Fran 
said  wistfully. 


CHAPTER  X 

AN    AMBUSCADE 

T?RAN'S  conception  of  the  Clinton  Boarding- 
House,  the  home  of  jollity,  was  not  warranted 
by  its  real  atmosphere.  Since  there  were  not  many 
inhabitants  of  Littleburg  detached  from  housekeep 
ing,  Miss  Sapphira  Clinton  depended  for  the  most 
part  on  "  transients  " ;  and,  to  hold  such  in  subjec 
tion,  preventing  them  from  indulging  in  that  noisy 
gaiety  to  which  "  transients  "  are  naturally  inclined 
—  just  because  they  are  transitory  —  the  elderly 
spinster  had  developed  an  abnormal  solemnity. 

This  solemnity  was  not  only  beneficial  to  "  drum 
mers  "  and  "  court  men  "  acutely  conscious  of  being 
away  from  home,  but  it  helped  her  brother  Bob. 
Before  the  charms  of  Grace  Noir  had  penetrated 
his  thick  skin,  the  popular  Littleburg  merchant  was 
as  unmanageable  as  the  worst.  Before  he  grew  ac 
customed  to  fall  into  a  semi-comatose  condition  at 
the  approach  of  Grace  Noir,  and,  therefore,  before 

1 20 


AN  AMBUSCADE  121 

his  famous  attempt  to  "  get  religion  ",  the  bachelor 
merchant  often  swore  —  not  from  aroused  wrath, 
but  from  his  peculiar  sense  of  humor.  In  those 
Anti-Grace  and  heathen  days,  Bob,  sitting  on  the 
long  veranda  of  the  green  frame  building,  one  leg 
swinging  over  the  other  knee,  would  say,  "  Yes, 
damn  it,"  or,  "  No,  damn  it,"  as  the  case  might 
be.  It  was  then  that  the  reproving  protest  of  his 
sister's  face  would  jelly  in  the  fat  folds  of  her  double 
chin,  helping,  somewhat,  to  cover  profanity  with  a 
prudent  veil. 

Miss  Sapphira  liked  a  joke  —  or  at  least  she 
thought  so  —  as  well  as  anybody ;  but  like  a  too- 
humorous  author,  she  found  that  to  be  as  funny  as 
possible  was  bad  for  business.  Goodness  knows 
there  was  enough  in  Littleburg  to  be  solemn  over, 
what  with  the  funerals,  and  widowers  marrying 
again,  yes,  and  widows,  too ;  and  there  wasn't  al 
ways  as  much  rejoicing  over  babies  as  the  county 
paper  would  have  you  believe! 

The  "  traveling  men  "  were  bad  enough,  needing 
to  be  reminded  of  their  wives  whom  they'd  left  at 
home,  and,  she'd  be  bound,  had  forgotten.  But 
when  one  man,  whether  a  traveler  or  not  —  even  a 
staid  young  teacher  like  Abbott  Ashton,  for  instance 


122  FRAN 

—  a  young  man  who  was  almost  like  a  son  to  her  — 
when  he  secluded  himself  in  the  night-time  —  by 
himself?  with  another  male?  oh,  dear,  no!  —  with 
a  Fran,  for  example  —  what  was  the  world  corn 
ing  to  ? 

"  There  they  stood,"  she  told  Bob,  "  the  two  of 
them,  all  alone  on  the  foot-bridge,  and  it  was  after 
nine  o'clock.  If  I  hadn't  been  in  a  hurry  to  get 
home  to  see  that  the  roomers  didn't  set  the  house 
afire,  not  a  soul  would  have  seen  the  two  collogu- 
ing." 

"  And  it  don't  seem  to  have  done  you  any  good," 
remarked  her  brother,  who,  having  heard  the  tale 
twenty  times,  began  to  look  upon  the  event  almost 
as  a  matter  of  course.  "  You'd  better  not  have  saw 
them," —  at  an  early  age  Bob  had  cut  off  his  educa 
tion,  and  it  had  stopped  growing  at  that  very  place. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  elected  president  of  the  school- 
board  on  the  principle  that  we  best  appreciate  what 
does  not  belong  to  us. 

"  My  home  has  been  Abbott  Ashton's  home,"  said 
Miss  Sapphira,  "  since  the  death  of  his  last  living 
relation,  and  her  a  step,  and  it  a  mercy,  for  nobody 
could  get  along  with  her,  and  she  wouldn't  let  peo 
ple  leave  her  alone.  You  know  how  fond  I  am  of 


AN  AMBUSCADE  123 

Abbott,  but  your  position  is  very  responsible.  You 
could  get  rid  of  him  by  lifting  your  finger,  and  peo 
ple  are  making  lots  of  talk;  it's  going  to  injure  you. 
People  don't  want  to  send  their  tender  young  inno 
cent  girls  —  they're  a  mighty  hardened  and  knowing 
set,  nowadays,  though,  I  must  say  —  to  a  superin 
tendent  that  stands  on  bridges  of  nights,  holding 
hands,  and  her  a  young  slip  of  a  thing.  All  alone, 
Robert,  all  alone;  there's  going  to  be  a  complaint  of 
the  school-board,  that's  what  there's  going  to  be, 
and  you'll  have  to  look  out  for  your  own  interests. 
You  must  talk  to  Abbott.  Him  a-standing  on  that 
bridge  — " 

"  He  ain't  stood  there  as  often  as  I've  been  wor 
ried  to  death  a-hearing  of  it,"  growled  the  ungrate 
ful  Bob,  who  was  immensely  fond  of  Abbott. 

Miss  Sapphira  spoke  with  amazingly  significant 
double  nods  between  each  word  — "  And  ...  I 
.  .  .  saw  .  .  .  only  .  .  .  four  .  .  .  days 
.  .  .  ago—" 

She  pointed  at  the  school-house  which  was  almost 
directly  across  the  street,  its  stone  steps  facing  the 
long  veranda.  "  They  were  the  last  to  come  out  of 
that  door.  You  may  say  she's  a  mere  child.  Mere 
children  are  not  in  Miss  Bull's  classes." 


124  FRAN 

"  But  Abbott  says  the  girl  is  far  advanced." 

"  Far  advanced !  You  may  well  say !  I'll  be 
bound  she  is  —  and  carrying  on  with  Abbott  on  the 
very  school-house  steps.  Yes,  I  venture  she  is  ad 
vanced.  You  make  me  ashamed  to  hear  you." 

Bob  tugged  at  his  straw-colored  mustache;  he 
would  not  swear,  for  whatever  happened,  he  was 
resolved  to  lead  the  spiritual  life.  "  See  here,  Sap- 
phira,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something.  I  had  quite 
a  talk  with  Abbott  about  that  bridge-business  — 
after  you'd  spread  it  all  over  town,  sis  —  and  if 
you'll  believe  me,  she  waylaid  him  on  those  school- 
steps.  He  didn't  want  to  talk  with  her.  Why,  he 
left  her  standing  there.  She  made  him  mad,  rinding 
fault  with  the  very  folks  that  have  taken  her  up. 
He's  disgusted.  That  night  at  the  camp-meeting, 
he  had  to  take  her  out  of  the  tent  —  he  was  asked  to 
doit—" 

"  He  didn't  have  to  stand,  a-holding  her  hand." 

" —  And  as  soon  as  he'd  shown  her  the  way  to 
Brother  Gregory's,  he  came  on  back  to  the  tent.  I 
saw  him  in  the  aisle." 

"  And  she  whistled  at  me,"  cried  Miss  Sapphira  — 
"the  limb!" 

"  Now,  listen,  Sapphira,  and  quit  goading.     Ab- 


AN  AMBUSCADE  125 

bott  says  that  Miss  Bull  is  having  lots  of  trouble 
with  Fran — " 

"  See  that,  now !  " 

" —  Because  Fran  won't  get  her  lessons,  being 
contrary  — " 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her  whistling  at  me, 
that  night." 

"  Hold  on.  So  this  very  evening  Miss  Bull  is 
going  to  send  her  down  to  Abbott's  office  to  be  pun 
ished,  or  dismissed.  This  very  evening  he  wants 
me  to  be  over  there  while  he  takes  her  in  hand." 

"  Abbott  is  going  to  punish  that  girl?  "  cried  Miss 
Sapphira ;  "  going  to  take  her  in  hand  ?  What  do 
you  mean  by  '  taking  her  in  hand  '  ?  She  is  too  old ! 
Robert,  you  make  me  blush." 

"  You  ain't  a-blushing,  Sapphira,"  her  brother  as 
sured  her,  good-naturedly,  "  you're  suffering  from 
the  hot  weather.  Yes,  he's  to  punish  her  at  four 
o'clock,  and  I'm  to  be  present,  to  stop  all  this  con- 
foun  —  I  mean  this  ungodly  gossip." 

"  You'd  better  wear  your  spectacles,  Bob,  so  you'll 
look  old  and  settled.  I'm  not  always  sure  of  you, 
either." 

"  Sapphira,  if  I  hadn't  joined  the  church,  I'd 
say  -  He  threw  up  his  hand  and  clenched  his 


126  FRAN 

fist  as  if  he  had  caught  an  oath  and  meant  to  hold 
it  tight.  Then  his  honest  face  beamed.  "  See  here, 
I've  got  an  idea.  Suppose  you  make  it  a  point  to 
be  sitting  out  here  on  the  veranda  at  about  half-past 
four,  or  five.  You'll  see  Fran  come  sneaking  out 
of  that  door  like  a  whipped  kitten.  She'll  look  ever 
lastingly  wilted.  I  don't  know  whether  Abbott  will 
stuff  her  full  of  fractions  and  geography,  or  make 
her  stand  in  a  corner  —  but  you'll  see  her  wilted." 

Miss  Sapphira  was  highly  gratified.  "  I  wish 
you'd  talked  this  reasonable  at  first.  It's  always 
what  people  don't  see  that  the  most  harm  comes  of. 
I'll  give  a  little  tea  out  here  on  the  veranda,  and  the 
worst  talkers  in  town  will  be  in  these  chairs  when 
you  bring  Fran  away  from  Abbott's  office.  And  I'll 
explain  it  all  to  'em,  and  they'll  know  Abbott  is  all 
right,  just  as  I've  always  known." 

"  Get  Miss  Grace  to  come,"  Bob  said  sheepishly. 
"  She  doesn't  like  Fran,  and  she'll  be  glad  to  know 
Abbott  is  doing  his  duty  by  her.  Later,  I'll  drop  in 
and  have  a  bite  with  you." 

This,  then,  was  Bob's  "  idea  ",  that  no  stone  might 
be  left  unturned  to  hide  the  perfect  innocence  of  the 
superintendent.  He  had  known  Abbott  Ashton  as 
a  bare-legged  urchin  running  on  errands  for  his 


AN  AMBUSCADE  127 

widowed  mother.  He  had  watched  him  through 
studious  years,  had  believed  in  his  future  career  — 
and  now,  no  bold  adventuress,  though  adopted  into 
Hamilton  Gregory's  home,  should  be  allowed  to 
spoil  Abbott's  chances  of  success. 

The  chairman  of  the  school-board  had  talked  con 
fidentially  with  Grace  Noir,  and  found  her  as  con 
vinced  that  Fran  was  a  degenerate  as  was  Bob  that 
Grace  was  an  angel.  As  he  went  to  the  appoint 
ment,  he  was  thinking  not  so  much  of  the  culprit 
Fran,  as  of  Grace  —  what  a  mouth,  what  a  foot! 
If  all  saints  were  as  beautiful  as  she,  religion  would 
surely  be  the  most  popular  thing  on  earth. 

In  his  official  character  as  chairman  of  the  board, 
Robert  Clinton  marched  with  dignity  into  the  su 
perintendent's  office,  meaning  to  bear  away  the 
wilted  Fran  before  the  eyes  of  woman.  Abbott 
Ashton  saw  him  enter  with  a  sense  of  relief.  The 
young  man  could  not  understand  why  he  had  held 
Fran's  hand,  that  night  on  the  foot-bridge.  Not 
only  had  the  sentiment  of  that  hour  passed  away, 
but  the  interview  Fran  had  forced  upon  him  at  the 
close  of  a  recent  school-day,  had  inspired  him  with 
actual  hostility.  It  seemed  the  irony  of  fate  that 
a  mere  child,,  a  stranger,  should,  because  of  senseless 


123  FRAN 

gossip,  endanger  his  chances  of  reappointnient  —  a 
reappointment  which  he  felt  certain  was  the  best 
possible  means  of  advancement.  Why  had  he  held 
Fran's  little  hand?  He  had  never  dreamed  of  hold 
ing  Grace's  —  ah,  there  was  a  hand,  indeed ! 

"Has  she  been  sent  down?"  Bob  asked,  in  the 
hoarse  undertone  of  a  fellow-conspirator. 

"  No."  Abbott  was  eager  to  prove  his  innocence. 
"  I  haven't  seen  a  sign  of  her,  but  I'm  looking  every 
minute  —  glad  you're  here." 

Confidences  were  impracticable,  because  of  a 
tousled-headed,  ink-stained  pupil  who  gloomed  in  a 
corner. 

"  Why,  hello  there,  Jakey !  "  cried  Clinton,  discon 
certed;  he  had  hoped  that  Fran's  subjugation  might 
take  place  without  witnesses.  "  What  are  you  doing 
here,  hey?  " 

"  Waitin'  to  be  whirped,"  was  the  defiant  re 
joinder. 

"  Tell  the  professor  you're  sorry  for  what  you've 
done,  so  you  can  run  along,"  said  the  chairman  of 
the  board  persuasively. 

"  Naw,  I  ain't  sorry,"  returned  Jakey,  hands  in 
pockets.  Then  bethinking  himself — "But  I  ain't 
done  nothin'.' 


AN  AMBUSCADE  129 

Abbott  said  regretfully,  "  He'll  have  to  be 
whipped." 

Clinton  nodded,  and  sat  down  solemnly,  breathing 
hard.  Abbott  was  restlessly  pacing  the  floor,  and 
Bob  was  staring  at  him  unwinkingly,  when  the  door 
opened  and  in  came  Fran. 

Abbott  frowned  heavily,  but  the  wrinkles  in  his 
brow  could  not  mar  the  attractiveness  of  his  hand 
some  young  face.  He  was  too  fine  looking,  the 
chairman  reflected  uneasily,  for  his  duties.  His  fig 
ure  was  too  athletic,  his  features  too  suggestive  of 
aristocratic  tastes  and  traditions.  Clinton  wished 
he  would  thrust  a  pen  behind  his  ear.  As  for  him 
self,  after  one  brief  glance  at  Fran,  he  fumbled  for 
his  spectacles. 

Fran  walked  up  to  Abbott  hesitatingly,  and  spoke 
with  the  indistinctness  of  awed  humility.  "  You  are 
to  punish  me,"  she  explained,  "  by  making  me  work 
out  this  original  proposition  " —  showing  the  book 
— "  and  you  are  to  keep  me  here  till  I  get  it." 

Abbott  asked  sternly,  "  Did  Miss  Bull  send  me 
this  message?  " 

"  She  is  named  that,"  Fran  murmured,  her  eyes 
fastened  on  the  open  page. 

From  the  yard  came  the  shouts  of  children,  break- 


130  FRAN 

ing  the  bonds  of  learning  for  a  wider  freedom.  Ab 
bott,  gazing  severely  on  this  slip  of  a  girl,  found  her 
decidedly  commonplace  in  appearance.  How  the 
moonlight  must  have  bewitched  him!  Her  rebel 
lious  hair  hung  over  her  face  like  a  shaggy  mane  — 
what  a  small  creature  to  be  dressed  as  a  woman,  and 
how  ridiculous  that  the  skirts  should  reach  even  to 
her  ankles !  It  had  not  been  so,  on  the  night  of  des 
tiny.  He  preferred  the  shorter  dress,  but  neither 
she  nor  her  attire  was  anything  to  him.  He  rejoiced 
that  Robert  Clinton  was  there  to  witness  his  indiffer 
ence. 

"  This  is  the  problem,"  Fran  said,  with  exceeding 
primness,  pronouncing  the  word  as  if  it  were  too 
large  for  her,  and  holding  up  the  book  with  a  slen 
der  finger  placed  upon  certain  italicized  words. 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  said  Abbott,  w7ith  professional 
dryness.  He  grasped  the  book  to  read  the  proposi 
tion.  His  hand  was  against  hers,  but  she  did  not 
draw  away,  for  had  she  done  so,  how  could  he  have 
found  the  place  ? 

Fran,  with  uplifted  eyes,  spoke  in  the  plaintive 
accents  of  a  five-year-old  child :  "  Right  there,  sir 
.  .  .  it's  awful  hard." 

Robert  Clinton  cleared  his  throat  and  produced 


AN  AMBUSCADE  131 

a  sound  bursting  with  accumulated  h's  and  r's  —  his 
warning  passed  unheeded. 

Never  before  had  Abbott  had  so  much  of  Fran. 
The  capillaries  of  his  skin,  as  her  hand  quivered 
warmly  against  his,  seemed  drawing  her  in;  and  as 
she  escaped  from  her  splendid  black  orbs,  she  en 
tered  his  brain  by  the  avenue  of  his  own  thirsty  eyes. 
What  was  the  use  to  tell  himself  that  she  was  com 
monplace,  that  his  position  was  in  danger  because  of 
her?  Suddenly  her  hair  no  longer  reminded  him 
of  the  flying  mane  of  a  Shetland  pony;  it  fell  slant 
wise  past  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  making  a  triangle 
of  smooth  white  skin  to  the  roots  of  the  hair,  and 
it  seemed  good,  just  because  it  was  Fran's  way  and 
not  after  a  machine-turned  fashion;  Fran  was  done 
by  hand,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that. 

"  Sit  there,"  Abbott  said,  gravely  pointing.  She 
obeyed  without  a  word,  leaving  the  geometry  as 
hostage  in  the  teacher's  hand.  When  seated  at  a 
discreet  distance,  she  looked  over  at  Bob  Clinton. 
He  hastily  drew  on  his  spectacles,  that  he  might  look 
old. 

Abbott  volunteered,  "  This  is  Mr.  Clinton,  Presi 
dent  of  the  Board." 

"  I  know,"  said  Fran,  staring  at  her  pencil  and 


132  FRAN 

paper,  "  he's  at  the  head  of  the  show,  and  watches 
when  the  wild  animals  are  tamed." 

Clinton  drew  forth  a  newspaper,  and  opened  it 
deliberately. 

Fran  scribbled  for  some  time,  then  looked  over 
at  him  again.  "  Did  you  get  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with 
mild  interest. 

"Did  I  get  —  what?"  he  returned,  with  puzzled 
frown. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  said  Fran  with  hu 
mility;  "  the  name  of  it's  '  Religion  '." 

"  If  I  were  you,"  Clinton  returned,  flushing,  "  I'd 
be  ashamed  to  refer  to  the  night  you  disgraced  your 
self  by  laughing  in  the  tent." 

"  Fran,"  Abbott  interposed  severely,  "  attend  to 
your  work." 

Fran  bent  her  head  over  the  desk,  but  was  not 
long  silent.  "  I  don't  like  a-b-c  and  d-e-f,"  she  ob 
served  with  more  energy  than  she  had  hitherto  dis 
played.  "  They're  equal  to  each  other,  but  I  don't 
know  why,  and  I  don't  care,  because  it  doesn't  seem 
to  matter.  Nothing  interests  me  unless  it  has  some 
thing  to  do  with  living.  I  don't  care  how  far  Mars 
is  from  the  earth  —  if  it  was  next  door,  I  wouldn't 
want  to  leave  home.  These  angles  and  lines  are 


AN  AMBUSCADE  133 

nothing  to  me;  what  I  care  for  is  this  time  I'm  wast 
ing,  sitting  in  a  stuffy  old  room,  while  the  good  big 
world  is  enjoying  itself  just  outside  the  window." 
She  started  up  impetuously. 

"  Sit  down!  "  Abbott  commanded. 

"  Fran!  "  exclaimed  Robert  Clinton,  stamping  his 
foot,  "sit  down!" 

Fran  sank  back  upon  the  bench. 

"  I  suspect,"  said  Abbott  mildly,  "  that  they  have 
put  you  in  classes  too  far  advanced.  We  must  try 
you  in  another  room  — " 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  be  tried  in  rooms,"  Fran 
explained,  "  I  want  to  be  tried  in  acts  —  deeds.  Un 
til  I  came  here,  I'd  never  been  to  school  a  day  in  my 
life,"  she  went  on  in  a  confidential  tone.  "  I  agreed 
to  attend  because  I  imagined  school  ought  to  have 
some  connection  with  life  —  something  in  it  mixed 
up  with  love  and  friendship  and  justice  and  mercy. 
Wasn't  I  silly !  I  even  believed  —  just  fancy !  — 
that  you  might  really  teach  me  something  about  re 
ligion.  But,  no !  it's  all  books,  nothing  but  books." 

"  Fran,"  Abbott  reasoned,  "  if  we  put  you  in  a 
room  where  you  can  understand  the  things  we  try  to 
teach,  if  we  make  you  thorough  — ' 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  thorough,"  she  explained,  "  I 


134  FRAN 

want  to  be  happy.  I  guess  all  that  schools  were 
meant  to  do  is  to  teach  folks  what's  in  books,  and 
how  to  stand  in  a  straight  line.  The  children  in 
Class  A,  or  Class  B  have  their  minds  sheared  and 
pruned  to  look  alike;  but  I  don't  want  my  brain 
after  anybody's  pattern." 

"  You'll  regret  this,  Miss,"  declared  Clinton,  in 
a  threatening  tone.  "  You  sit  down.  Do  you  want 
the  name  of  being  expelled?  " 

"  I  don't  care  very  much  about  the  names  of 
things,"  said  Fran  coolly;  "there  are  lots  of  re 
spectable  names  that  hide  wickedness."  Her  tone 
changed :  "  But  yonder's  another  wild  animal  for 
you  to  train ;  did  you  come  to  see  him  beaten  ?  "  She 
darted  to  the  corner,  and  seated  herself  beside 
Jakey. 

"  Say,  now,"  Bob  remonstrated,  pulling  his  mus 
tache  deprecatingly,  "  everybody  knows  I  wouldn't 
see  a  dog  hurt  if  it  could  be  helped.  I'm  Jakey's 
friend,  and  I'd  be  yours,  Fran  —  honestly  —  if  I 
could.  But  how's  a  school  to  be  run  without  au 
thority?  You  ain't  reasonable.  All  we  want  of  you 
is  to  be  biddable." 

"  And  you! "  cried  Fran  to  Abbott,  beginning  to 
give  way  to  high  pressure,  "  I  thought  you  were  a 


AN  AMBUSCADE  135 

school-teacher,  not  just,  but  also  —  a  something  very 
nice,  also  a  teacher.  But  not  you.  Teacher's  all 
you  are,  just  rules  and  regulations  and  authority  and 
chalk  and  a-b-c  and  d-e-f." 

Abbott  crimsoned.  Was  she  right  ?  Was  he  not 
something  very  nice  plus  his  vocation?  He  found 
himself  desperately  wishing  that  she  might  think  so. 

Fran,  after  one  long  glowing  look  at  him,  turned 
to  the  lad  in  disgrace,  and  placed  her  hand  upon  his 
stubborn  arm.  "Have  you  a  mother?"  she  asked 
wistfully. 

"  Yeh,"  mumbled  the  lad,  astonished  at  rinding 
himself  addressed,  not  as  an  ink-stained  husk  of  hu 
manity,  but  as  an  understanding  soul. 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Fran  softly,  talking  to  him  as 
if  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  two  listening  men, 
"  but  I  had  one,  a  few  years  ago  —  and,  oh,  it  seems 
so  long  since  she  died,  Jakey  —  three  years  is  a 
pretty  long  time  to  be  without  a  mother.  And  you 
can't  think  what  a  fault-blindest,  spoilingest,  candiest 
mother  she  was.  I'm  glad  yours  is  living,  for  you 
still  have  the  chance  to  make  her  proud  and  happy. 
No  matter  how  fine  I  may  turn  out  —  do 
you  reckon  I'll  ever  be  admired  by  anybody,  Jakey? 
Huh !  I  guess  not.  But  if  I  were,  mother  wouldn't 


136  FRAN 

be  here  to  enjoy  it.  Won't  you  tell  Professor  Ash- 
ton  that  you  are  sorry  ?  " 

"  Fran  -  "  Abbott  began. 

Fran  made  a  mouth  at  him.  "  I  don't  belong  to 
your  school  any  more,"  she  informed  him.  "  Mr. 
School-Director  can  tell  you  the  name  of  what  he 
can  do  to  me;  he'll  find  it  classified  under  the  E's." 

After  this  explosion,  she  turned  again  to  the  lad : 
"  I  saw  you  punch  that  boy,  Jakey,  and  I  heard  you 
say  you  didn't,  and  yet  it  was  a  good  punch.  What 
made  you  deny  it?  Punches  aren't  bad  ideas.  If  I 
could  strike  out  like  you  did,  I'd  wait  till  I  saw  a 
man  bullying  a  weaker  one,  and  I'd  stand  up  to 
him  — "  Fran  leaped  impulsively  to  her  feet,  and 
doubled  her  arm  — "  and  I'd  let  her  land !  Punch- 
ing's  a  good  thing,  and,  oh,  how  it's  needed.  .  .  . 
Except  at  school  —  you  mustn't  do  anything  human 
here,  you  must  be  an  oyster  at  school." 

"Aw-right,"  said  Jakey,  with  a  glimmering  of 
comprehension.  He  seemed  coming  to  life,  as  if  sap 
were  trickling  from  winter-congealment. 

Bob  Clinton,  too,  felt  the  fresh  breeze  of  early 
spring  in  his  face.  He  removed  his  spectacles. 

"  The  first  thing  I  knew,"  Fran  said,  resuming  her 
private  conversation  with  Jakey,  "  I  had  a  mother, 


AN  AMBUSCADE  137 

but  no  father  —  not  that  he  was  dead,  oh,  bless  you, 
he  was  alive  enough  —  but  before  my  birth  he  de 
serted  mother.  Uncle  turned  us  out  of  the  house. 
Did  we  starve,  that  deserted  mother  and  her  little 
baby?  I  don't  look  starved,  do  I?  Pshaw!  If  a 
woman  without  a  cent  to  her  name,  and  ten  pounds 
in  her  arms  can  make  good,  what  about  a  big  strong 
boy  like  you  with  a  mother  to  smile  every  time  he 
hits  the  mark?  And  you'd  better  believe  we  got 
more  than  a  living  out  of  life.  Mother  taught  me 
geography  and  history  and  the  Revolutionary  War 
—  you  know  history's  one  thing,  and  the  Revolu 
tionary  War  is  another  —  and  every  lesson  she  gave 
me  was  soaked  with  love  till  it  was  nearly  as  sweet 
as  her  own  brave  eyes.  Maybe  I  wouldn't  have 
liked  it,  if  I'd  had  to  study  on  a  hard  bench  in  a 
stuffy  room  with  the  world  shut  out,  and  a  lid  put 
on  my  voice  —  but  anything's  good  that's  got  a 
mother  in  it.  And  tell  these  gentlemen  you're  sorry 
for  punching  that  boy." 

"  Sorr',"  muttered  Jakey  shamefacedly. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  Abbott  exclaimed  heart 
ily.  '''  You  can  take  your  cap  to  go,  Jakey." 

"  Lemme  stay,"  Jakey  pleaded,  not  budging  an 
inch. 


138  FRAN 

Fran  lifted  her  face  above  the  tousled  head  to 
look  at  Abbott;  she  sucked  in  her  cheeks  and  made 
a  triumphant  oval  of  her  mouth.  Then  she  seemed 
to  forget  the  young  man's  presence. 

"  But  when  mother  died,  real  trouble  began.  It 
was  always  hard  work,  while  she  lived,  but  hard 
work  isn't  trouble,  la,  no,  trouble's  just  an  empty 
heart !  Well,  sir,  when  I  read  about  how  good 
Mr.  Hamilton  Gregory  is,  and  how  much  he  gives 
away  —  to  folks  he  never  sees  —  here  I  came. 
But  I  don't  seem  to  belong  to  anybody,  Jakey,  I'm 
outside  of  everything.  People  wouldn't  care  if 
I  blew  away  with  the  dead  leaves,  and  maybe  I  will, 
some  fine  morning  —  maybe  they'll  go  up  to  my 
room  and  call,  '  Fran !  Fran ! ' —  and  there'll  be 
no  Fran.  Oh,  oh,  how  happy  they'll  be  then! 
But  you  have  a  home  and  a  mother,  Jakey,  and  a 
place  in  the  world,  so  I  say  '  Hurrah ! '  because 
you  belong  to  somebody,  and,  best  of  all,  you're  not 
a  girl,  but  a  boy  to  strike  out  straight  from  the 
shoulder." 

Jakey  was  dissolved;  tears  burst  their  confines. 

One  may  shout  oneself  hoarse  at  the  delivery  of 
a  speech  which,  if  served  upon  printed  page,  would 


AN  AMBUSCADE  139 

never  prompt  the  reader  to  cast  his  hat  to  the  ceil 
ing.  No  mere  print  under  bold  head-lines  did  Ab 
bott  read,  but  rather  the  changing  lights  and 
shadows  in  great  black  eyes.  It  was  marvelous 
how  Fran  could  project  past  experiences  upon  the 
screen  of  the  listener's  perception.  At  her,  "  When 
mother  died,"  Abbott  saw  the  girl  weeping  beside 
the  death-bed.  When  she  sighed,  "  I  don't  belong 
to  anybody,"  the  school-director  felt  like  crying, 
"  Then  belong  to  me ! "  But  it  was  when  she 
spoke  of  blowing  away  with  the  dead  leaves  — 
looking  so  pathetic  and  so  full  of  elfish  witchery 
—  that  the  impression  was  deepest.  It  almost 
seemed  possible  that  she  might  fade  and  fade  to 
an  autumn  leaf,  and  float  out  the  window,  and  be 
lost  —  Clinton  had  an  odd  impulse  to  hold  her,  lest 
she  vanish. 

Fran  now  completed  her  work.  She  rose  from 
the  immovable  Jakey  and  came  over  to  Abbott 
Ashton,  with  meekly  folded  hands. 

He  found  the  magic  of  the  moonlight-hour  re 
turning.  She  had  mellowed  —  glowed  —  softened 
-womanized  —  Abbott  could  not  find  the  word 
for  it.  She  quivered  with  an  exquisiteness  not  to 


140  FRAN 

be  defined  —  a  something  in  hair,  or  flesh,  or  glory 
of  eye,  or  softness  of  lips,  altogether  lacking  in  his 
physical  being,  but  eagerly  desired. 

"  Professor  Ashton,"  she  spoke  seriously,  "  I 
have  been  horrid.  I  might  have  known  that  school 
is  merely  a  place  where  young  people  crawl  into 
books  to  worm  themselves  from  lid  to  lid,  swallow 
ing  all  that  comes  in  the  way.  But  I'd  never  been 
to  school,  and  I  imagined  it  a  place  where  a  child 
was  helped  to  develop  itself.  I  thought  teachers 
were  trying  to  show  the  pupils  the  best  way  to 
be  what  they  were  going  to  be.  I've  been  disap 
pointed,  but  that's  not  your  fault;  you  are  just  a 
system.  If  a  boy  is  to  be  a  blacksmith  after  he's 
grown,  and  if  a  girl  in  the  same  class  is  to  be  a 
music-teacher,  or  a  milliner,  both  must  learn  about 
a-b-c  and  d-e-f.  So  I'm  going  away  for  good,  be 
cause,  of  course,  I  couldn't  afford  to  waste  my 
time  in  this  house.  I  know  the  names  of  the 
bones  and  the  distances  of  the  planets  are  awfully 
nice,  but  I'm  more  interested  in  Fran." 

"  But,  Fran,"  Abbott  exclaimed  impulsively, 
"  don't  you  see  that  you  are  holding  up  ignorance 
as  a  virtue?  Can  you  afford  to  despise  knowledge 
in  this  civilized  age?  You  should  want  to  know 


AN  AMBUSCADE  141 

facts  just  because  —  well,  just  because  they  are 
facts." 

"  But  I  don't  seem  to,  at  all,"  Fran  responded 
mildly.  "  No,  I'm  not  making  fun  of  education 
when  I  find  fault  with  your  school,  any  more  than 
I  show  irreverence  to  my  mother's  God  when  I 
question  what  some  people  call  '  religion  '.  I  want 
to  find  the  connection  —  looks  like  it's  lost  —  the 
connection  between  life  and  —  everything  else.  It's 
the  connection  to  life  that  makes  facts  of  any  value 
to  me;  and  it's  only  in  its  connection  to  life  that  I'd 
give  a  pin  for  all  the  religion  on  earth." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  Abbott  faltered. 

She  unfolded  her  hands,  and  held  them  up  in 
a  quaint  little  gesture  of  aspiration.  "  No,  be 
cause  it  isn't  in  a  book.  I  feel  lost  —  so  out  in 
space.  I  only  ask  for  a  place  in  the  universe  —  to 
belong  to  somebody  .  .  ." 

"  But,"  said  Abbott,  "  you  already  belong  to 
somebody,  since  Mr.  Gregory  has  taken  you  into 
his  home  and  he  is  one  of  the  best  men  that 
ever  — " 

"  Oh,  let's  go  home,"  cried  Fran  impatiently. 
"  Let's  all  of  us  skip  out  of  this  chalky  old  base 
ment-smelly  place,  and  breathe  the  pure  air  of  life." 


142  FRAN 

She  darted  toward  the  door,  then  looked  back. 
Sadness  had  vanished  from  her  face,  to  give  place 
to  a  sudden  glow.  The  late  afternoon  sun  shone 
full  upon  her,  and  she  held  her  lashes  apart,  quite 
unblinded  by  its  intensity.  She  seemed  suddenly 
illumined,  not  only  from  without,  but  from  within. 

Abbott  seized  his  hat.  Robert  Clinton  had  al 
ready  snatched  up  his.  Jakey  squeezed  his  cap  in  an 
agitated  hand.  All  four  hurried  out  into  the  hall 
as  if  moved  by  the  same  spring. 

Unluckily,  as  they  passed  the  hall  window,  Fran 
looked  out.  Her  eyes  were  caught  by  a  group 
seated  on  the  veranda  of  the  Clinton  boarding- 
house.  There  were  Miss  Sapphira  Clinton,  Miss 
Grace  Noir,  and  several  mothers,  sipping  after 
noon  tea.  In  an  instant,  Fran  had  grasped  the 
plot.  That  cloud  of  witnesses  was  banked  against 
the  green  weather-boarding,  to  behold  her  igno 
miny. 

"  Mr.  Clinton,"  said  Fran,  all  sweetness,  all 
allurement,  "  I  am  going  to  ask  of  you  a  first 
favor.  I  left  my  hat  up  in  Miss  Bull's  room 
and  — " 

"  I  will  get  it,"  said  Abbott  promptly. 


AN  AMBUSCADE  143 

"  Lem  me!  "  Jakey  pleaded,  with  fine  admiration. 

"  Well,  I  rather  guess  not!  "  cried  Bob.  "  Think 
I'll  refuse  Fran's  first  request?"  He  sped  up 
stairs,  uncommonly  light  of  foot. 

"  Now,"  whispered  Fran  wickedly,  "  let's  run  off 
and  leave  him." 

"  I'm  with  you !  "  Abbott  whispered  boyishly. 

They  burst  from  the  building  like  a  storm,  Fran 
laughing  musically,  Abbott  laughing  joyously, 
Jakey  laughing  loudest  of  all.  They  sallied  down 
the  front  walk  under  the  artillery  fire  of  hostile 
eyes  from  the  green  veranda.  They  continued 
merry.  Jakey  even  swaggered,  fancying  himself 
a  part  of  it;  he  regretted  his  short  trousers. 

When  Robert  Clinton  overtook  them,  he  was 
red  and  breathless,  but  Fran's  beribboned  hat  was 
clutched  triumphantly  in  his  hand.  It  was  he 
who  first  discovered  the  ambuscade.  He  suddenly 
remembered,  looked  across  the  street,  then  fell, 
desperately  wounded.  The  shots  would  have 
passed  unheeded  over  Abbott's  head,  had  not  Fran 
called  his  attention  to  the  ambuscade. 

"  It's  a  good  thing,"  she  said  innocently,  "  that 
you're  not  holding  my  hand  —  '  and  she  nodded 


144  FRAN 

toward  the  boarding-house.  Abbott  looked,  and 
turned  for  one  despairing  glance  at  Bob;  the  latter 
was  without  sign  of  life. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  inquired  Fran,  as  they 
halted  ridiculously.  "If  we  run  for  it,  it'll  make 
things  worse." 

"Oh,  Lord,  yes!"  groaned  Bob;  "don't  make  a 
bolt!" 

Abbott  pretended  not  to  understand.  "  Come 
on,  Fran,  I  shall  go  home  with  you."  His  fight 
ing  blood  was  up.  In  his  face  was  no  surrender, 
no,  not  even  to  Grace  Noir.  "  Come,"  he  per 
sisted,  with  dignity. 

"  How  jolly !  "  Fran  exclaimed.  "  Shall  we  go 
through  the  grove?  —  that's  the  longest  way." 

'  Then  let  us  go  that  way,"  responded  Abbott 
stubbornly. 

"  Abbott,"  the  school-director  warned,  "  you'd 
better  come  on  over  to  my  place  —  I'm  going  there 
this  instant  to  —  to  get  a  cup  of  tea.  It'll  be  best 
for  you,  old  fellow,  you  listen  to  me,  now  —  you 
need  a  little  er  —  a  —  some  —  a  little  stimulant." 

"  No,"  Abbott  returned  definitely.  He  had 
done  nothing  wrong,  and  he  resented  the  accusing 


AN  AMBUSCADE  145 

glances    from   across   the   way.     "  No,   I'm   going 
with  Fran." 

"  And  don't  you  bother  about  him,"  Fran  called 
after  the  retreating  chairman  of  the  board,  "  he'll 
have  stimulant  enough." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   NEW    BRIDGE   AT    MIDNIGHT 

TT  was  almost  time  for  summer  vacation.  Like 
all  conscientious  superintendents  of  public 
schools,  Abbott  Ashton  found  the  closing  week 
especially  fatiguing.  Examinations  were  nerve- 
testing,  and  correction  of  examination-papers  called 
for  late  hours  over  the  lamp.  At  such  times, 
when  most  needing  sleep,  one  sleeps  least. 

One  strolls,  at  hours  devoted  by  others  to 
slumber.  Abbott  Ashton,  for  instance,  had  fallen 
into  the  reprehensible  habit  of  bolting  from  the 
boarding-house,  after  the  last  paper  had  been 
graded,  no  matter  how  late  the  night,  and  making 
his  way  rapidly  from  town  as  if  to  bathe  his  soul 
in  country  solitude.  Like  all  reprehensible  habits 
this  one  was  presently  to  revenge  itself  by  getting 
the  "  professor  "  into  trouble. 

One  beautiful  moonlight  night,  he  was  nearing 
the  suburbs,  when  he  made  a  discovery.  The  dis- 

146 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      147 

covery  was  twofold:  first,  that  the  real  cause  of 
his  nightly  wanderings  was  not  altogether  a 
weariness  of  mental  toil;  second,  that  he  had,  for 
some  time,  been  trying  to  escape  from  the  thought 
of  Fran.  He  had  not  known  this.  He  had  simply 
run,  asking  no  questions.  It  was  when  he  sud 
denly  discovered  Fran  in  the  flesh,  as  she  slipped 
along  a  crooked  alley,  gliding  in  shadows,  that  the 
cause  of  much  sleeplessness  was  made  tangible. 

Abbott  was  greatly  disturbed.  Why  should 
Fran  be  stealthily  darting  down  side-alleys  at 
midnight?  The  wonder  suggested  its  corollary  — 
why  was  he  running  as  from  some  intangible 
enemy?  He  realized  that  the  Fran-thought  had 
been  working  in  the  under-layers  of  his  mental 
processes  all  the  time  his  upper  crust  had  busied 
itself  with  rehearsals  of  "  Beyond  the  Alps  lies 
Italy  "  and  the  determination  of  Hamlet's  madness. 
But  now  was  no  time  for  introspection,  and  he  set 
himself  the  task  of  solving  the  new  mystery.  As 
Fran  merged  from  the  mouth  of  the  alley,  Abbott 
dived  into  its  bowels,  but  when  he  reached  the  next 
street,  no  Fran  was  to  be  seen. 

Had  she  darted  into  one  ®f  the  scattered  cabins 
that  composed  the  fringe  of  Littleburg?  At  the 


148  FRAN 

mere  thought,  he  felt  a  nameless  shrinking  of  the 
heart.  Surely  not.  But  could  she  possibly, 
however  fleet  of  foot,  have  rounded  the  next 
corner  before  his  coming  into  the  light?  Abbott 
sped  along  the  street  that  he  might  know  the 
truth,  though  he  realized  that  the  less  he  saw  of 
Fran  the  better.  However,  the  thought  of  her 
being  alone  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  most 
assuredly  without  her  guardian's  knowledge, 
seemed  to  call  him  to  duty.  Call  or  no  call,  he 
went. 

It  seemed  to  him  a  long  time  before  he  reached 
the  corner.  He  darted  around  it  —  yonder  sped 
Fran  like  a  thin  shadow  racing  before  the  moon. 
She  had  taken  the  direction  of  the  open  fields,  and 
so  swiftly  did  she  run,  that  the  sound  of  his  pursuit 
never  reached  her  ears.  She  ran.  Abbott  ran. 
It  was  like  a  foot-race  without  spectators. 

At  last  she  reached  the  bridge  spanning  a  ravine 
in  whose  far  depths  murmured  a  little  stream. 
The  bridge  was  new,  built  to  replace  the  foot 
bridge  upon  which  Abbott  and  Fran  had  stood  on 
the  night  of  the  tent-meeting.  Was  it  possible 
that  the  superintendent  of  instruction  was  about 
to  venture  a  second  time  across  this  ravine  with 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      149 

the  same  girl,  under  the  same  danger  of  misunder 
standing,  revealed  by  similar  glory  of  moonlight? 
One  may  do  even  that,  wherj  duty  calls  —  for  surely 
it  was  a  duty  to  warn  this  imprudent  child  to  go 
home.  Conscience  whispered  that  it  would  not  be 
enough  simply  to  warn;  he  should  escort  her  to 
Hamilton  Gregory's  very  door,  that  he  might  know 
she  had  been  rescued  from  the  wide  white  night; 
and  his  conscience  was  possibly  upheld  by  the 
knowledge  that  a  sudden  advent  of  a  Miss 
Sapphira  was  morally  impossible. 

Fran's  back  had  been  toward  him  all  the  time. 
She  was  still  unaware  of  his  presence,  as  she 
paused  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  and  with 
critical  eye  sought  a  position  mathematically  the 
same  from  either  hand-rail.  Standing  there,  she 
drew  a  package  from  her  bosom,  hastily  seated 
herself  upon  the  boards,  and,  oblivious  of  sur 
roundings,  bent  over  the  package  as  it  rested  in  her 
lap. 

Was  she  reading  some  love-sick  romance  by  moon 
light,  or  —  or  possibly  a  letter?  Abbott,  without 
pause,  hurried  up.  His  feet  sounded  on  the 
bridge. 

Fran  was  speaking  aloud,  and,  on  that  account, 


150  FRAN 

did  not  hear  him,  as  he  came  up  behind  her. 
"  Grace  Noir,"  she  was  saying  — "  Abbott  Ash- 
ton  —  Bob  Clinton  —  Hamilton  Gregory  —  Mrs. 
Gregory  —  Simon  Jefferson  —  Mrs.  Jefferson  — 
Miss  Sapphira  —  Fran  —  the  Devil  — "  She 
seemed  to  be  calling  the  roll  of  her  acquaintances. 
Was  she  reading  a  list  from  the  package  ? 

Abbott  trod  noisily  on  the  fresh  pine  floor. 

Fran  swiftly  turned,  and  the  moonbeams  re 
vealed  a  flush,  yet  she  did  not  attempt  to  rise. 
"  Why  didn't  you  answer,  when  you  heard  your 
name  called?  "  she  asked  with  a  good  deal  of  com 
posure. 

"  Fran!  "  Abbott  exclaimed.  "  Here  all  alone  at 
midnight  —  all  alone!  Is  it  possible?  " 

"  No,  it  isn't  possible,"  Fran  returned  satirically, 
"  for  I  have  company." 

Abbott  warmly  urged  her  to  hasten  back  home; 
at  the  same  time  he  drew  nearer  and  discovered 
that  her  lap  was  covered  with  playing-cards.  His 
advice  to  her  was  all  it  should  have  been;  the  most 
careful  father  could  have  found  no  fault  with  his 
helpful  words  —  all  the  same,  he  didn't  understand 
about  those  cards. 

Fran,  looking  down,  listened  with  profound  re- 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      151 

spectfulness,  and  when  he  had  finished,  she  said, 
"It  is  so  nice  of  you  to  care  about  me  and  worry 
over  what  people  will  thiftk,  so  I'll  go  home  with 
you  just  as  soon  as  I  tell  the  fortune  of  the  cards. 
It  won't  take  but  a  minute,  and  I'm  awfully  glad 
you  came,  for  it  was  pretty  scary  here  alone,  I  tell 
you!  The  moon  kept  making  big  eyes  at  me,  and 
the  brook  sounded  like  a  death-call  down  there  in 
the  dark." 

"  But  you  mustn't  stay  here,"  he  said  impera 
tively.  "  Let  us  go  at  once." 

"  Just  as  soon  as  I  tell  the  fortunes.  Of  course 
I  wouldn't  go  to  all  this  trouble  for  nothing.  Now 
look.  This  card  is  Fran  —  the  Queen  of  Hearts. 
This  one  is  Simon  Jefferson  —  and  this  one  is  Bob. 
And  you  —  but  it's  no  use  telling  all  of  them. 
Now;  we  want  to  see  who's  going  to  marry." 

Abbott  spoke  in  his  most  authoritative  tone : 
"Fran!  Get  up  and  come  with  me  before  some 
body  sees  you  here.  This  is  not  only  ridiculous, 
it's  wrong  and  dreadfully  imprudent." 

Fran  looked  up  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I  won't!  " 
she  cried.  "  Not  till  I've  told  the  fortunes.  I'm 
not  the  girl  to  go  away  until  she's  done  what  she 
came  to  do."  Then  she  added  mildly,  "Abbott,  I 


152  FRAN 

just  had  to  say  it  in  that  voice,  so  you'd  know  I 
meant  it.     Don't  be  cross  with  me." 

She  shuffled  the  cards. 

"  But  why  must  you  stay  out  here  to  do  it  ?  " 
he  groaned. 

"  Because  this  is  a  new  bridge.  I'd  hate  to  be 
a  professor,  and  not  know  that  it  has  to  be  in  the 
middle  of  a  new  bridge,  at  midnight,  over  running 
water,  in  the  moonlight.  Now  you  keep  still  and 
be  nice;  I  want  to  see  who's  going  to  get  married. 
Here  is  Grace  Noir,  and  here  is  Fran  .  .  ." 

"  And  where  am  I  ?  "  asked  Abbott,  in  an  awed 
voice,  as  he  bent  down. 

Fran  wouldn't  tell  him. 

He  bent  lower.     "  Oh,  I  see,  I  see !  "  he  cried. 
C(  This  is  me  — "  he  drew  a  card  from  the  pack  — 
"  the  King  of  Hearts."     He  held  it  up  triumphantly. 
"  Well.     And  you  are  the  Queen  of  Hearts,  you 
said." 

"  Maybe  I  am,"  said  Fran,  rather  breathlessly, 
"but  whose  hearts  are  we  king  and  queen  of? 
That's  what  I  want  to  find  out."  And  she  showed 
her  teeth  at  him. 

"  We  can  draw  and  see,"  he  suggested,  sinking 
upon  one  knee.  "  And  yet,  since  you're  the 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      153 

queen  and  I'm  the  king,  it  must  be  each  other's 
hearts  — " 

He  stopped  abruptly  at  sight  of  her  crimsoned 
cheeks. 

"  That  doesn't  always  follow,"  Fran  told  him 
hastily ;  "  not  by  any  means.  For  here  are  other 
queens.  See  the  Queen  of  Spades?  Maybe  you'll 
get  her.  Maybe  you  want  her.  You  see,  she 
either  goes  to  you,  or  to  the  next  card." 

"  But  I  don't  want  any  Queen  of  Spades,"  Ab 
bott  declared.  He  drew  the  next  card,  and  ex 
claimed  dramatically,  "  Saved,  saved !  Here's  Bob. 
Give  her  to  Bob  Clinton." 

"  Oh,  Abbott !  "  Fran  exclaimed,  looking  at  him 
with  starlike  eyes  and  roselike  cheeks,  making  the 
most  fascinating  picture  he  had  ever  beheld  at 
midnight  under  a  silver  moon.  "Do  you  mean 
that  ?  Remember  you're  on  a  new  bridge  over  run 
ning  water." 

Abbott  paused  uneasily.  She  looked  less  like 
a  child  than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  Her  body  was 
very  slight  —  but  her  face  was  .  .  .  It  is  mar 
velous  how  much  of  a  woman's  seriousness  was  to 
be  found  in  this  girl.  She  seemed  inclined  to  give 
her  words  about  the  foolish  cards  a  woman's  sig- 


154  FRAN 

nificance.  He  rose  with  the  consciousness  that 
for  a  moment  he  had  rather  forgotten  himself. 

He  reminded  her  gravely  — "  We  are  talking 
about  cards  —  just  cards." 

"  No,"  said  Fran,  not  stirring,  "  we  are  talking 
about  Grace  Noir.  You  say  you  don't  want  her; 
you've  already  drawn  yourself  out.  That  leaves 
her  to  poor  Bob  —  he'll  have  to  take  her,  unless 
the  Joker  gets  the  lady  —  the  Joker  is  named  the 
Devil  ...  So  the  game  isn't  interesting  any 
more."  She  threw  down  all  the  cards,  and  looked 
up,  beaming.  "  My!  but  I'm  glad  you  came." 

He  was  fascinated  and  could  not  move,  though 
as  convinced  as  at  the  beginning  that  they  should 
not  linger  thus.  There  might  be  fatal  conse 
quences;  but  the  charm  of  the  little  girl  seemed  to 
temper  this  chill  knowledge  to  the  shorn  lamb.  He 
temporized :  "  Why  don't  you  go  on  with  your 
fortune-telling,  little  girl  ?  " 

"  I  just  wanted  to  find  out  if  Grace  Noir  is 
going  to  get  you,"  she  said  candidly ;  "  it  doesn't 
matter  what  becomes  of  her.  Were  you  ever  on 
this  bridge  before?  " 

"  Fran,  Miss  Grace  is  one  of  the  best  friends  I 
have,  and  —  and  everybody  admires  her.  The 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      155 

fact  that  you  don't  like  her,  shows  that  you  are 
not  all  you  ought  to  be." 

"  What  does  the  fact  that  she  doesn't  like  me 
show?" 

"  It  shows  that  you  ought  to  be  changed.  It 
was  a  fatal  mistake  when  you  left  school,  but 
it's  worse  for  you  to  refuse  persistently  to  go  to 
church." 

"  And  she  told  you  that,  did  she?  " 

"  I  want  your  higher  nature  to  be  developed. 
Take  Miss  Grace  for  your  model  —  I  know  you 
have  noble  impulses ;  grow  up  to  be  a  noble  woman 
—  try  to  be  like  her." 

He  was  sorry  to  strike  these  necessary  blows, 
she  seemed  so  pitifully  defenseless  as  he  watched 
the  motionless  figure  at  his  feet.  Fran's  drooping 
head  hid  her  face.  Was  she  contrite,  or  mocking? 

Presently  5^2  looked  up,  her  expression  that  of 
grave  cheerfulness.  "  Now  you've  said  what  you 
thought  you  had  to  say,"  she  remarked.  "  So  that's 
over.  Were  you  ever  on  this  bridge  before?  " 

Abbott  was  offended.     "  No." 

"  Good,  good ! "  with  vivacious  enthusiasm. 
"  Both  of  us  must  cross  it  at  the  same  time  and 
make  a  wish.  Help  me  up  —  quick." 


156  FRAN 

She  reached  up  both  hands,  and  Abbott  lifted  her 
to  her  feet. 

"  Whenever  you  cross  a  new  bridge,"  she  ex 
plained,  "  you  must  make  a  wish.  It'll  come  true. 
Won't  you  do  it,  Abbott  ?  " 

"Of  course.  What  a  superstitious  little  Non 
pareil  !  Do  you  hold  hands  ?  " 

"Honest  hands — "  She  held  out  both  of  hers. 
"  Come  on  then.  What  are  you  going  to  wish, 
Abbott?  But  no,  you  mustn't  tell  till  we're  across. 
Oh,  I'm  just  dying  to  know!  Have  you  made  up 
your  mind,  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Fran,"  he  answered  indulgently,  "  it's 
something  always  in  my  mind." 

"About  Grace  Noir?" 

"  Nothing  whatever  about  Miss  Grace  Noir." 

"  All  right.     I'm  glad.     Say  this : 

"  '  Slow  we  go, 
Two  in  a  row  ' — 

Don't  talk  or  anything,  just  wish,  oh,  wish  with 
all  your  might  - 


With  all  my  mind  and  all  my  heart, 
While  we're  together  and  after  we  part ' — 


say  that.' 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      157 
Abbott  repeated  gravely : 

"  '  With  all  my  mind  and  all  my  heart, 
While  we're  together  and  after  we  part.' 

"  What  are  you  going  to  wish,  Fran  ?  " 

"Sh-h-h!  Mum!"  whispered  Fran,  opening 
her  eyes  wide.  With  slow  steps  they  walked  side 
by  side,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  four  hands  clasped. 
Fran's  great  dark  eyes  were  set  fixedly  upon  space 
as  they  solemnly  paraded  beneath  the  watchful 
moon.  As  Abbott  watched  her,  the  witchery  of 
the  night  stole  into  his  blood.  Beneath  them,  the 
brook  murmured  drowsily  in  its  dark  bed.  Be 
yond,  stretched  the  meadows,  and,  far  away,  the 
woods.  Before  them,  and  behind,  ran  the  rutted 
road,  hard  and  gleaming.  Over  them,  the  moon 
showered  its  profusion  of  silver  beams.  Within 
them  were  —  wishes. 

The  last  plank  was  crossed.  "  Now ! "  Fran 
cried  breathlessly,  "what  did  you  wish?"  Her 
body  was  quivering,  her  face  glowing. 

'  That  I  might  succeed,"  Abbott  answered. 

"Oh!"  said  Fran.  "My!  That  was  like  a 
cold  breath.  Just  wishing  to  be  great,  and 
famous,  and  useful,  and  rich!  " 


158  FRAN 

Abbott  laughed  as  light-heartedly  as  if  the  road 
were  not  calling  them  away  from  solitudes. 
"  Well,  what  did  you  wish,  Fran  ?  " 

"  That  you  might  always  be  my  friend,  while 
we're  together,  and  after  we  part." 

"  It  doesn't  take  a  new  bridge  to  make  that 
come  true,"  he  declared. 

She  looked  at  him  solemnly.  "  Do  you  under 
stand  the  responsibilities  of  being  a  friend?  A 
friend  has  to  assume  obligations,  just  as  when  a 
man's  elected  to  office,  he  must  represent  his  party 
and  his  platform." 

"  I'll  stand  for  you !  "  Abbott  cried  earnestly. 

"Will  you?  Then  I'm  going  to  tell  you  all 
about  myself  —  ready  to  be  surprised?  Friends 
ought  to  know  each  other.  In  the  first  place,  I 
am  eighteen  years  old,  and  in  the  second  place  I 
am  a  professional  lion-trainer,  and  in  the  third 
place  my  father  is  —  but  friends  don't  have  to 
know  each  other's  fathers.  Besides,  maybe  that's 
enough  to  start  with." 

"  Yes,"  said  Abbott,  "  it  is."  He  paused,  but  she 
could  not  guess  his  emotions,  for  his  face  showed 
nothing  but  a  sort  of  blankness.  "  I  should  like  to 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      159 

take  this  up  seriatim.  You  tell  me  you  are  eighteen 
years  old  ?  " 

" — And  have  had  lots  of  experience." 

"Your  lion-training:  has  it  been  theoretical, 
or—" 

"Mercenary,"  Fran  responded;  "real  lions, 
real  bars,  real  spectators,  real  pay-days." 

"But,  Fran,"  said  Abbott  helplessly,  "I  don't 
understand." 

"  But  you're  going  to,  before  I'm  done  with 
you.  I  tell  you,  I'm  a  show-girl,  a  lion-tamer, 
a  Jungler.  I'm  the  famous  Fran  Nonpareil,  and 
my  carnival  company  has  showed  in  most  of  the 
towns  and  cities  of  the  United  States.  I  guess  you 
feel  funny  to  have  such  a  celebrated  person  talk 
ing  to  you,  but  in  ordinary  life,  great  people  aren't 
different.  It's  when  I'm  in  my  blue  silks  and  gold 
stars  and  crimson  sashes,  kissing  my  hands  to  the 
audience,  that  I'm  the  real  princess." 

Though  she  spoke  lightly,  she  was  well  aware 
of  the  shock  she  had  imparted.  For  a  time  her 
face  had  never  looked  so  elfish,  but  in  the  silence 
that  ensued,  the  light  faded  from  her  eyes. 

Abbott  was  unable  to  analyze  his  real  emotions, 


160  FRAN 

and  his  one  endeavor  was  to  hide  his  perplexity. 
He  had  always  treated  her  as  if  she  were  older 
than  the  town  supposed,  hence  the  revelation  of  her 
age  did  not  so  much  matter;  but  lion-training  was 
so  remote  from  conventions  that  it  seemed  in  a 
way  almost  uncanny.  It  seemed  to  isolate  Fran, 
to  set  her  coldly  apart  from  the  people  of  his  world. 

"  I'm  going  home,"  Fran  said  abruptly. 

He  followed  her  mechanically,  too  absorbed  in 
her  revelation  to  think  of  the  cards  left  forgotten 
on  the  bridge.  From  their  scene  of  good  wishes, 
Fran  went  first,  head  erect,  arms  swinging  de 
fiantly;  Abbott  followed,  not  knowing  in  the  least 
what  to  say,  or  even  what  to  think. 

The  moon  had  not  been  laughing  at  them  long, 
before  Fran  looked  back  over  her  shoulder  and 
said,  as  if  he  had  spoken,  "  Still,  I'd  like  for  you 
to  know  about  it." 

He  quickened  his  step  to  regain  her  side,  but 
was  oppressed  by  an  odd  sense  of  the  abnormal. 

"  Although,"  she  added  indistinctly,  "  it  doesn't 
matter." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  until,  after  prolonged 
hesitation,  he  told  her  quietly  that  he  would  like 
to  hear  all  she  felt  disposed  to  tell. 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      161 

She  looked  at  him  steadily :  "  Can  you  dilute 
a  few  words  with  the  water  of  your  imagination, 
to  cover  a  life?  I'll  speak  the  words,  if  you  have 
the  imagination." 

/* 

As  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  all  sense  of  the 
abnormal  disappeared.  "  I  have  the  imagination, 
Fran,"  he  exclaimed  impulsively,  "  if  it  is  your 
life." 

"In  spite  of  the  lions?"  she  asked,  almost 
sternly. 

Abbott  rested  a  hand  upon  each  of  her  shoulders, 
and  studied  her  face.  The  moonlight  was  lost  in 
the  depths  of  the  unfaltering  eyes,  and  there  came 
upon  him  a  surging  tide  as  from  the  depths  of  the 
unknown,  sweeping  away  such  artificial  barriers 
as  the  mind  prepares  against  all  great  shocks,  or 
surprises. 

"  You  needn't  tell  me  a  word,"  Abbott  said,  re 
moving  his  hands.  "  I  know  all  that  one  need 
know;  it's  written  in  your  face,  a  story  of  sweet 
innocence  and  brave  patience." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  know." 

"  Good !  "  he  replied  with  a  sudden  smile.  "  Tell 
the  story,  then ;  if  you  were  an  Odyssey,  you  couldn't 
be  too  long." 


162  FRAN 

'  The  first  thing  I  remember  is  waking  up 
to  feel  the  car  jerked,  or  stopped,  or  started,  and 
seeing  lights  flash  past  the  windows  —  lanterns  of 
the  brakemen,  or  lamps  of  some  town,  dancing 
along  the  track.  The  sleeping-car  was  home  — 
the  only  home  I  knew.  All  night  long  there  was 
the  groaning  of  the  wheels,  the  letting  off  of 
steam,  the  calls  of  the  men.  Bounder  Brothers 
had  their  private  train,  and  mother  and  I  lived  in 
our  Pullman  car.  I  don't  know  how  old  I  was 
when  I  found  out  that  everybody  didn't  live  on 
wheels, —  that  most  children  had  homes  that  didn't 
move  around,  with  neighbors  and  relations.  After 
a  while  I  knewr  that  folks  stared  at  us  because  we 
were  different  from  others.  We  were  show-people. 
Then  the  thing  was  to  look  like  you  didn't  know, 
or  didn't  care,  how  much  people  stared.  After 
that,  I  found  out  that  I  had  no  father;  he'd  de 
serted  mother,  and  her  uncle  had  turned  her  out  of 
doors  for  marrying  against  his  wishes,  and  she'd 
have  starved  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  show-people." 

"  Dear  Fran !  "  whispered  Abbott  tenderly. 

"  Mother  had  gone  to  Chicago,  hoping  for  a 
position  in  some  respectable  office,  but  they  didn't 
want  a  typewriter  who  wasn't  a  stenographer.  It 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      163 

was  winter  —  and  mother  had  me  —  I  was  so  little 
and  bad!  ...  In  a  cheap  lodging-house, 
mother  got  to  know  La  Gonizetti,  and  she  per 
suaded  mother  to  wait  with  her  for  the  season  to 
open  up,  then  go  with  Bounder  Brothers;  they 
were  wintering  in  Chicago.  It  was  such  a  kind 
of  life  as  mother  had  never  dreamed  of,  but  it  was 
more  convenient  than  starving,  and  she  thought  it 
would  give  her  a  chance  to  find  father  —  that 
traveling,  all  over  the  country.  La  Gonizetti  was 
a  lion-tamer,  and  that's  what  mother  learned,  and 
those  two  were  the  only  ones  who  could  go  inside 
Samson's  cage.  The  life  was  awfully  hard,  but 
she  got  to  like  it,  and  everybody  was  kind  to  us, 
and  money  came  pouring  in,  and  she  was  always 
hoping  to  run  across  a  clue  to  my  father  —  and 
never  did." 

She  paused,  but  at  the  pressure  of  Abbott's  sym 
pathetic  hand,  she  went  on  with  renewed  courage: 

"  When  I  was  big  enough,  I  wore  a  tiny  black 
skirt,  and  a  red  coat  with  shiny  buttons,  and  I 
beat  the  drum  in  the  carnival  band.  You  ought 
to  have  seen  me  —  so  little.  .  .  .  Abbott,  you 
can't  imagine  how  little  I  was !  We  had  about  a 
dozen  small  shows  in  our  company,  fortune-tellers, 


164  FRAN 

minstrels,  magic  wonders,  and  all  that  —  and  the 
band  had  to  march  from  one  tent  to  the  next,  and 
stand  out  in  front  and  play,  to  get  the  crowd  in 
a  bunch,  so  the  free  exhibition  could  work  on  their 
nerves.  And  I'd  beat  away,  in  my  red  coat  .  .  . 
and  there  were  always  the  strange  faces,  staring, 
staring  —  but  I  was  so  little !  Sometimes  they  would 
smile  at  me,  but  mother  had  taught  me  never  to 
speak  to  any  one,  but  to  wear  a  glazed  look  like 
this  — " 

"How  frightfully  cold!"  Abbott  shivered. 
Then  he  laughed,  and  so  did  Fran.  They  had 
entered  Littleburg.  He  added  wickedly,  "  And  how 
dreadfully  near  we  are  getting  to  your  home." 

Fran  gurgled.  "  Wouldn't  Grace  Noir  just  die 
if  she  could  see  us!  " 

That  sobered  Abbott;  considering  his  official 
position,  it  seemed  high  time  for  reflection. 

Fran  resumed  abruptly.  "  But  I  never  really 
liked  it  because  what  I  wanted  was  a  home  —  to 
belong  to  somebody.  Living  that  way  in  a  travel 
ing-car,  going  to  sleep  in  the  rattle  of  pulling 
down  tent-seats  and  the  roar  of  wild  animals,  and 
waking  up  with  the  hot  sun  glaring  into  your 
eyes,  and  the  smell  of  weeds  coming  in  through 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      165 

your  berth-window  ...  it  made  me  want  to 
be  fastened  to  the  ground,  like  a  tree.  Then  I  got 
to  hating  the  bold  stare  of  people's  eyes,  and  their 
foolish  gaping  mouths,  I  hated  being  always  on 
exhibition  with  every  gesture  \vatched,  as  if  I'd 
been  one  of  the  trained  dogs.  I  hated  the  public. 
I  wanted  to  get  away  from  the  world  —  clear 
away  from  everybody  .  .  .  like  I  am  now 
.  with  you.  Isn't  it  great !" 

"  Mammoth !  "  Abbott  declared,  watering  her 
words  with  liberal  imagination. 

"  I  must  talk  fast,  or  the  Gregory  house  will  be 
looming  up  at  us.  Mother  didn't  want  me  to  like 
that  life,  maybe  that  was  another  reason  —  she  was 
always  talking  about  how  we'd  settle  down, 
some  day,  in  a  place  of  our  own  where  we'd  know 
the  people  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence  —  and 
quit  being  wonders.  But  looks  like  I  can't  manage 
it." 

"  Some  people  are  born  wonders,"  remarked 
Abbott. 

"  Yes,"  Fran  acquiesced  modestly,  "  I  guess  I 
was.  Mother  taught  me  all  she  knew,  though  she 
hated  books;  she  made  herself  think  she  was  only 
in  the  show  life  till  she  could  make  a  little  more  — 


1 66  FRAN 

always  just  a  little  more  —  she  really  loved  it,  you 
see.  But  I  loved  the  books  —  study  —  anything 
that  wasn't  the  show.  It  was  kind  of  friendly 
when  I  began  feeding  Samson." 

"  Poor  little  Nonpareil!  "  murmured  Abbott  wist 
fully. 

"  And  often  when  the  show  was  being  unloaded, 
I'd  be  stretched  out  in  our  sleeper,  with  a  school- 
book  pressed  close  to  the  cinder-specked  window, 
catching  the  first  light.  When  the  mauls  were 
pounding  away  at  the  tent-pins,  maybe  I'd  hunt  a 
seat  on  some  cage,  if  it  had  been  drawn  up  under 
a  tree,  or  maybe  it'd  be  the  ticket-wagon,  or  even 
the  stake-pile  —  there  you'd  see  me  studying  away 
for  dear  life,  dressed  in  a  plain  little  dress,  trying 
to  look  like  ordinary  folks.  Such  a  queer  little 
chap,  I  was  —  and  always  trying  to  pretend  that 
I  wasn't !  You'd  have  laughed  to  see  me." 

"Laughed  at  you!"  cried  Abbott  indignantly. 
"  Indeed  I  shouldn't." 

"No?"  exclaimed  Fran,  patting  his  arm  impul 
sively. 

"  Dear  little  wonder !  "  he  returned  conclusively. 

"  I  must  tell  you  about  one  time,"  she  continued 
gaily.  "  We  were  in  New  Orleans  at  the  Mardi 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      167 

Gras,  and  I  was  expected  to  come  into  the  ring 
riding  Samson  —  not  the  vicious  old  lion,  but 
cub  —  that  was  long  after  my  days  of  the  drum 
and  the  red  coat,  bless  you !  I  was  a  lion-tamer, 
now,  nearly  thirteen  years  old,  if  you'll  believe  me. 
Well !  And  what  was  I  saying  —  you  keep  look 
ing  so  friendly,  you  make  me  forget  myself. 
Goodness,  Abbott,  it's  so  much  fun  talking  to  you 

.  .  I've  never  mentioned  all  this  to  one  soul  in 
this  town  .  .  .  Well  —  oh,  yes ;  I  was  to  have 
come  into  the  ring,  riding  Samson.  Everybody 
was  waiting  for  me.  The  band  nearly  blew  itself 
black  in  the  face.  And  what  do  you  think  was  the 
matter?" 

"Did  Samson  balk?" 

"  No,  it  wasn't  that.  I  was  lying  on  the  cage- 
floor,  with  my  head  on  Samson  —  Samson  the 
Second  made  such  a  gorgeous  and  animated  pil 
low  !  —  and  I  was  learning  geology.  I'd  just 
found  out  that  the  world  wasn't  made  in  seven 
United  States  days,  and  it  was  such  surprising  news 
that  I'd  forgotten  all  about  cages  and  lions  and 
tents  —  if  you  could  have  seen  me  lying  there  — 
if  you  just  could !  " 

"But   I   can!"    Abbott   declared.     "Your   long 


1 68  FRAN 

black  hair  is  mingled  with  his  tawny  mane,  and 
your  cheeks  are  blooming  - 

"  And  my  feet  are  crossed,"  cried  Fran. 

"  And  your  feet  are  crossed ;  and  those  little 
hands  hold  up  the  book,"  Abbott  swiftly  sketched 
in  the  details ;  "  and  your  bosom  is  rising  and 
falling,  and  your  lips  are  parted  —  like  now  — 
showing  perfect  teeth  — " 

"  Dressed  in  my  tights  and  fluffy  lace  and 
jewels,"  Fran  helped,  "  with  bare  arms  and  stars 
all  in  my  hair  .  .  .  But  the  end  came  to 
everything  when  —  when  mother  died.  Her  last 
words  were  about  my  father  —  how  she  hoped 
some  day  I'd  meet  him,  and  tell  him  she  had  for 
given.  Mother  sent  me  to  her  half -uncle.  My! 
but  that  was  mighty  unpleasant !  "  Fran  shook  her 
head  vigorously.  "  He  began  telling  me  about 
how  mother  had  done  wrong  in  marrying  secretly, 
and  he  threw  it  up  to  me  and  I  just  told  him 
.  .  .  But  he's  dead,  now.  I  had  to  go  back 
to  the  show  —  there  wasn't  any  other  place.  But 
a  few  months  ago  I  was  of  age,  and  I  came  into 
Uncle  Ephraim's  property,  because  I  was  the  only 
living  relation  he  had,  so  he  couldn't  help  my  getting 
it.  I'll  bet  he's  mad,  now,  that  he  didn't  make  a 


THE  NEW  BRIDGE  AT  MIDNIGHT      169 

will !  When  he  said  that  mother  —  it  don't  matter 
what  he  said  —  I  just  walked  out  of  his  door,  that 
time,  with  my  head  up  high  like  this  .  .  .  Oh, 
goodness,  we're  here." 

They  stood  before  Hamilton  Gregory's  silent 
house. 

"  Good  night,"  Fran  said  hastily.  "  It's  a  mis 
take  to  begin  a  long  story  on  a  short  road.  My! 
But  wasn't  that  a  short  road,  though !  " 

"  Sometime,  you  shall  finish  that  story,  Fran.  I 
know  of  a  road  much  longer  than  the  one  we've 
taken  —  we  might  try  it  some  day,  if  you  say  so." 

"  I  do  say  so.     What  road  is  it?  " 

They  had  paused  at  the  front  gate,  Fran  in  the 
yard,  Abbott  outside.  It  was  dark  under  the  heavy 
sugar-maples  that  guarded  the  gate;  they  could  not 
see  beyond  each  other's  faces.  Abbott  felt  strange, 
as  if  he  knew  no  more  about  what  he  might  do,  or 
say,  than  if  he  had  been  another  man.  He  had 
spoken  of  a  long  road  without  definite  purpose,  yet 
there  was  a  glimmering  perception  of  the  reality,  as 
he  showed  by  saying  tremulously: 

"  This  is  the  beginning  of  it  — " 

He  bent  down,  as  if  to  take  her  in  his  arms. 

But  Fran  drew  back,  perhaps  with  a  blush  that 


1 70  FRAN 

the  darkness  concealed,  certainly  with  a  little  laugh. 
"  I'm  afraid  I'd  get  lost  on  that  road,"  she  mur 
mured,  "  for  I  don't  believe  you  know  the  way  very 
well,  yourself." 

She  sped  lightly  to  the  house,  unlocked  the  door, 
and  vanished. 


CHAPTER  XII 

GRACE    CAPTURES    THE   OUTPOSTS 

next  evening  there  was  choir  practice 
'at  the  Walnut  Street  church.  Abbott  Ash- 
ton,  hesitating  to  make  his  nightly  plunge  into  the 
dust-clouds  of  learning,  paused  in  the  vestibule  to 
take  a  peep  at  Grace.  It  always  rested  him  to  look 
at  her;  he  meant  to  drink  her  in,  as  it  were,  to  cool 
his  parched  soul,  then  make  a  dash  at  his  stack  of 
examination-papers.  He  knew  she  never  missed  a 
choir  practice,  for  though  she  could  neither  sing, 
nor  play  the  organ,  she  thought  it  her  duty  to  set 
an  example  of  regular  attendance  that  might  be  the 
means  of  bringing  those  who  could  do  one  or  the 
other. 

Abbott  was  not  disappointed;  but  he  was  sur 
prised  to  see  Mrs.  Jefferson  in  her  wheel-chair  at  the 
end  of  the  pew  occupied  by  the  secretary,  while  be 
tween  them  sat  Mrs.  Gregory.  His  surprise  be 
came  astonishment  on  discovering  Fran  and  Simon 
Jefferson  in  the  choir  loft,  slyly  whispering  and  nib- 
171 


FRAN 

bling  candy,  with  the  air  of  soldiers  off  duty  —  for 
the  choir  was  in  the  throes  of  a  solo. 

Abbott,  as  if  hypnotized  by  what  he  had  seen, 
slowly  entered  the  auditorium.  Fran's  keen  eyes 
discovered  him,  and  her  face  showed  elfish  mischief. 
Grace,  following  Fran's  eyes,  found  the  cause  of  the 
odd  smile,  and  beckoned  to  Abbott.  Hamilton 
Gregory,  following  Grace's  glance  —  for  he  saw  no 
one  but  her  at  the  practices,  since  she  inspired  him 
with  deepest  fervor  —  felt  suddenly  as  if  he  had  lost 
something;  he  had  often  experienced  the  same  sen 
sation  on  seeing  Grace  approached  by  some  unat 
tached  gentleman. 

Grace  motioned  to  Abbott  to  sit  beside  her,  with 
a  concentration  of  attention  that  showed  her  pur 
pose  of  reaching  a  definite  goal  unsuspected  by  the 
other.  On  account  of  the  solo,  there  were  the 
briefest  of  whispered  greetings  to  Mrs.  Gregory,  and 
merely  a  wave  to  old  Mrs.  Jefferson. 

"  I'm  so  glad  Fran  has  taken  a  place  in  the  choir," 
Abbott  whispered  to  Grace.  "  And  look  at  Simon 
Jefferson  —  who'd  have  thought  it !  " 

Grace  looked  at  Simon  Jefferson ;  she  also  looked 
at  Fran,  but  her  compressed  lips  and  reproving  eye 
expressed  none  of  Abbott's  gladness.  However, 


GRACE  CAPTURES  THE  OUTPOSTS   173 

she  responded  with  — "  I  am  so  glad  you  are  here, 
Professor  Ashton,  for  I'm  in  trouble,  and  I  can't 
decide  which  way  it  is  my  duty  to  turn.  Will  you 
help  me  ?  I  am  going  to  trust  you  —  it  is  a  matter 
relating  to  Mr.  Gregory." 

Abbott  was  pleased  that  she  should  think  him 
competent  to  advise  her  respecting  her  duty;  at  the 
same  time  he  regretted  that  her  confidence  related 
to  Mr.  Gregory.  It  came  vaguely  to  his  mind  that 
it  was  always  like  that  —  which  was  natural, 
though,  since  he  was  her  employer. 

"  Professor  Ashton,"  she  said  softly,  "  does  my 
position  as  hired  secretary  to  Mr.  Gregory  carry 
with  it  the  obligation  to  warn  him  of  any  miscon 
duct  in  his  household?  " 

The  solo  was  dying  away,  and,  sweet  and  low, 
it  fell  from  heaven  like  manna  upon  his  soul,  blend 
ing  divinely  with  the  secretary's  voice.  Her  ex 
pression  "  hired  "  sounded  like  a  tragic  note  —  to 
think  of  one  so  beautiful,  so  meek,  so  surrounded 
by  mellow  hymn-notes,  being  hired !  He  had  lost 
the  vision  of  his  career  in  mists  of  an  attenuated 
Grace  Noir.  As  the  material  skirts  of  the  spiritual 
Grace  Noir  brushed  his  leg,  it  was  as  if,  for  a  mo 
ment,  his  veins  ran  muslin  and  pink  ribbons. 


174  FRAN 

"  You  hesitate  to  advise  me,  before  you  know 
all,"  she  said,  "  and  you  are  right.  In  a  moment 
the  choir  will  be  singing  louder,  and  we  can  all  talk 
together.  Mrs.  Gregory  should  be  consulted,  too." 

Grace,  conscious  of  doing  all  that  one  could 
in  consulting  Mrs.  Gregory,  "  too  ",  looked  toward 
the  choir  loft,  and  smiled  into  Hamilton  Gregory's 
eyes.  How  his  baton,  inspired  by  that  smile,  cut 
magic  runes  in  the  air !  An  anthem  rose  buoyantly, 
covering  the  ensuing  conversation  with  its  mantle  of 
sound. 

"  Mrs.  Gregory,"  Grace  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I 
suppose  Professor  Ashton  is  so  surprised  at  seeing 
you  in  church  —  it  has  been  more  than  five  months, 
hasn't  it?  .  .  .  that  I'm  afraid  he  isn't  think 
ing  about  what  I'm  saying."  She  paused  as  if  to 
ask  why  the  other  was  there, —  as  if  she  were  an 
interloper,  who,  having  by  absence  forfeited  her 
rights,  now  came  in  her  arrogance  to  claim  them. 
Not  only  Grace's  tone,  but  her  very  attitude  seemed 
to  ask,  "Why  is  this  woman  here?" 

Airs.  Gregory  could  not  help  feeling  in  the  way, 
because  her  husband  seemed  to  share  Grace's  feel 
ing.  Instinctively  she  turned  to  her  mother  and 
laid  her  hand  on  the  invalid's  arm. 


GRACE  CAPTURES  THE  OUTPOSTS      175 

"  They  ain't  bothering  me,  Lucy,"  said  the  old 
lady,  alertly.  "  I  can't  hear  their  noise,  and  when 
I  shut  my  eyes  I  can't  see  their  motions." 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you  both,"  Grace  said 
solemnly.  "  Last  night,  I  couldn't  sleep,  and  that 
made  me  sensitive  to  noises.  I  thought  I  heard 
some  one  slipping  from  the  house  just  as  the  clock 
struck  half-past  eleven.  It  seemed  incredible,  for 
I  knew  if  it  were  any  one,  it  was  that  Fran,  and  I 
didn't  think  even  she  would  do  that." 

It  was  as  if  Abbott  had  suddenly  raised  a  win 
dow  in  a  raw  wind.  His  temperature  descended. 
The  other's  manner  of  saying  "  That  Fran ! "  ob 
scured  his  glass  of  the  future. 

Mrs.  Gregory  said  quickly,  "  Fran  leave  the  house 
at  half -past  eleven?  Impossible." 

Grace  smiled  unpleasantly.  Believing  Fran,  pos 
sibly  an  impostor,  certainly  a  disturbing  element, 
it  was  her  duty  to  drive  her  from  her  employer's 
house ;  but  however  pure  and  noble  her  disapproval, 
Grace  could  not  speak  of  the  orphan  without  a  tone 
or  look  suggesting  mere  spite. 

"  How  do  you  know,"  Abbott  asked,  "  that  Fran 
left  the  house  at  such  a  time  of  the  night?  "  The 
question  was  unfair  since  it  suggested  denial,  but 


176  FRAN 

his  feeling  for  Fran  seemed  to  call  for  unfairness 
to  Grace. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  Grace  responded,  with  the  dis 
tinctness  of  one  in  power.  "  At  the  time,  I  told 
myself  that  even  Fran  would  not  do  that.  But,  a 
long  time  afterward,  I  heard  another  sound,  from 
the  yard.  I  went  to  my  window.  I  looked  out. 
The  moon  was  bright,  but  there  was  a  very  dark 
shadow  about  the  front  gate.  I  heard  voices.  One 
was  that  of  Fran.  The  other  was  the  voice  of  - 
her  tone  vibrated  in  its  intensity  — "  the  voice  of  a 
man!" 

"  It  was  not  Fran's  voice,"  Mrs.  Gregory  de 
clared  earnestly. 

"What  man  was  it?  "  Abbott  inquired,  rather  re 
sentfully. 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  wish  now,  that  I  had  called 
out,"  responded  Grace,  paying  no  heed  to  Mrs.  Greg 
ory.  "  That  is  where  I  made  my  mistake.  The 
man  got  away.  Fran  came  running  into  the  house, 
and  closed  the  door  as  softly  as  she  could  —  after 
she'd  unlocked  it  from  the  outside!  I  concluded 
it  would  be  best  to  wait  till  morning,  before  I  said 
a  word.  So  this  morning,  before  breakfast,  I 
strolled  in  the  yard,  trying  to  decide  what  I  had  bet- 


GRACE  CAPTURES  THE  OUTPOSTS   177 

ter  do.  I  went  to  the  gate,  and  there  on  the  grass 
—  what  do  you  suppose  I  found  ?  " 

Abbott  was  bewildered.  What  serious  conse 
quences  was  Grace  about  to  evolve  from  the  bridge- 
romance  ? 

Mrs.  Gregory  listened,  pale  with  apprehension. 

"  It  was  a  card,"  Grace  said,  with  awful  sig 
nificance,  "  a  gambling  card !  As  long  as  I  have 
lived  in  the  house,  nobody  ever  dared  to  bring  a  card 
there.  Mrs.  Gregory  will  tell  you  the  same.  But 
that  Fran.  .  .  .  She  had  been  playing  cards 
out  there  at  midnight  —  and  with  a  man !  " 

"  I  can  not  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Gregory  firmly. 

"  After  making  up  my  mind  what  to  do,"  contin 
ued  Grace  evenly,  "  I  took  her  aside.  I  told  her 
what  I  had  seen  and  heard.  I  gave  her  back  her 
card.  But  how  can  we  be  sure  she  will  not  do  it 
again?  That  is  what  troubles  me.  Oughtn't  I  to 
tell  Mr.  Gregory,  so  a  scandal  can  be  avoided?  " 

Abbott  looked  blankly  at  Fran,  who  was  singing 
with  all  her  might.  She  caught  his  look,  and  closed 
her  eyes.  Abbott  asked  weakly,  "  What  did  she 
say?" 

Grace  answered,  "  She  denied  it,  of  course  — 
said  she  hadn't  been  playing  cards  with  anybody, 


178  FRAN 

hadn't  dropped  the  card  I  found,  and  wouldn't  even 
admit  that  she'd  been  with  a  man.  If  I  tell  Mr. 
Gregory  about  her  playing  cards  with  a  man  at  that 
hour,  I  don't  believe  he  will  think  he  ought  to  keep 
her  longer,  even  if  she  does  claim  to  be  his  friend's 
daughter." 

"  But  you  tell  us,"  Mrs.  Gregory  interposed 
swiftly,  "  that  she  said  she  hadn't  been  playing 
cards." 

"She  said!"  Grace  echoed  unpleasantly,  "she 
said!" 

"  That  card  you  found,"  began  Abbott  guiltily, 
"was  it  the  King  of  Hearts?"  Possibly  he 
had  dropped  it  from  his  pocket  when  leaning  over 
the  gate  to  —  But  why  had  he  leaned  over  the 
gate? 

Grace  coldly  answered,  "  I  do  not  know  one  card 
from  another." 

"  Let  me  try  to  describe  it." 

"  I  hope  you  can  not  describe  the  card  I  found," 
said  Grace,  the  presentiment  that  she  was  on  the 
eve  of  discoveries  giving  her  eyes  a  starlike  direct 
ness.  Abbott  felt  himself  squirming  under  the  heel 
of  a  higher  order  of  being. 

"  I  suspect  I  dropped  that  card  over  the  fence," 


GRACE  CAPTURES  THE  OUTPOSTS      179 

he  confessed,  "  for  I  had  the  King  of  Hearts,  and 
last  night,  about  that  time  I  was  standing  at  the 
gate—" 

"  Oh,"  Grace  exclaimed,  disagreeably  surprised. 
"  I  did  not  know  that  you  play  cards,  Professor  Ash- 
ton.  Do  you  also  attend  the  dances?  I  had  al 
ways  thought  of  you  as  one  of  the  most  faithful 
members  of  the  Walnut  Street  church  —  one  who 
is  always  there,  when  you  can  come  —  not  like  some 
members  whose  names  are  on  the  book.  Surely 
you  haven't  been  dancing  and  playing  cards  very 
long?" 

"  Not  for  a  great  while,"  responded  Abbott,  with 
the  obstinacy  of  a  good  conscience  wrongfully  ac 
cused. 

The  secretary  no  longer  held  him  under  her  foot 
—  the  last  icicle-prick  of  her  tongue  had  liberated 
him. 

"  Only  since  Fran  came,  I  am  sure,"  she  said, 
feeling  him  escaping.  She  looked  at  him  with  some 
thing  like  scorn,  inspired  by  righteous  indignation 
that  such  as  he  could  be  influenced  by  Fran.  That 
look  wrought  havoc  with  the  halo  he  had  so  long 
blinked  at,  as  it  swung  above  her  head. 

"  Does  that  mean,"  he  inquired,  with  a  steady 


180  FRAN 

look,  "  that  you  imagine  Fran  has  led  me  into  bad 
habits?" 

"  I  trust  the  habits  are  not  fixed,"  rather  con 
temptuously.  "  I  hardly  think  you  mean  to  desert 
the  church,  and  lose  your  position  at  school,  for  the 
sake  of  —  of  that  Fran." 

"  I  hardly  think  so,  either,"  returned  Abbott. 
"  And  now  I'd  better  go  to  my  school-work." 

"  Fran  is  imprudent,"  said  Mrs.  Gregory,  in  dis 
tress,  "  but  her  heart  is  pure  gold.  I  don't  know 
what  all  this  means,  but  when  I  have  had  a  talk 
with  her  — " 

"  Don't  go,  Professor  Ashton,"  interposed  Grace, 
as  he  started  up,  "  until  you  advise  me.  Shall  I 
tell  Mr.  Gregory?  Or  shall  I  conceal  it  on  the  as 
surances  that  it  will  never  happen  again?" 

Abbott  seated  himself  with  sudden  persuasive 
ness.  "Conceal  it,  Miss  Grace,  conceal  it!"  he 
urged. 

"  If  you  will  frankly  explain  what  happened  — 
here  before  Mrs.  Gregory,  so  she  can  have  the  real 
truth,  we  will  never  betray  the  secret.  But  if  you 
can  not  tell  everything,  I  shall  feel  it  my  duty  —  I 
don't  know  how  Mrs.  Gregory  feels  about  it  —  but 
/  must  tell  Mr.  Gregory." 


GRACE  CAPTURES  THE  OUTPOSTS      181 

"  I  would  rather  wait,"  said  Mrs.  Gregory,  "and 
talk  to  Fran.  She  will  promise  me  anything.  I 
trust  you,  Abbott ;  I  know  you  would  never  lead  my 
little  girl  into  wrong-doing.  She  is  wild  and  un 
trained,  and  I  suspect  you  were  trying  to  help  her, 
last  night.  Leave  it  all  to  me.  I  will  have  a  good 
talk  with  Fran." 

"  And,"  said  Abbott  eagerly,  "if  we  both  sol 
emnly  promise  — " 

Grace  bit  her  lip.     His  "  we  "  condemned  him. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to  hide  the  affair  on  my  ac 
count,"  he  said,  holding  up  his  head.  "  I  don't 
want  Fran  put  in  an  unjust  light.  She  isn't  to  be 
judged  like  other  people." 

"  Oh,"  murmured  Grace,  "  then  you  think  there 
is  more  than  one  standard  of  right?  I  don't. 
There's  one  God  and  one  Right.  No,  I  can  not  con 
sent;  what  might  satisfy  Mrs.  Gregory  might  not 
seem  best  to  me.  No,  Professor,  if  you  feel  that 
you  can  not  explain  what  I  saw,  last  night,  I  shall 
feel  obliged  to  tell  Mr.  Gregory  as  soon  as  the  choir 
practice  ends." 

"  Didn't  Fran  refuse  to  tell  ?  "  Abbott  tempo 
rized. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  skilful  response;  "but  her  reti- 


182  FRAN 

cence  must  have  been  to  save  you,  for  the  girl  never 
seems  ashamed  of  anything  she  does.  I  imagine 
she  hated  to  get  you  into  trouble." 

"  Miss  Grace,  you  have  heard  Mrs.  Gregory  say 
that  she  trusts  me  —  and  she  is  Fran's  guardian.  I 
ask  you  to  do  the  same." 

"  I  must  consider  my  conscience." 

That  answer  closed  all  argument. 

"  You  had  better  tell  her,"  said  Mrs.  Gregory, 
"  for  she  is  determined  to  know." 

"  I  was  taking  a  walk  to  rest  my  mind,"  Abbott 
said  slowly,  proceeding  as  if  he  would  have  liked 
to  fight  his  ground  inch  by  inch,  "  and  it  was  rather 
late.  I  was  strolling  about  Littleburg.  Yesterday 
was  a  pretty  hard  day,  getting  ready  for  Commence 
ment  —  my  mind  was  tired  out." 

"  Did  you  get  your  mind  rested  ?  "  Grace  per 
mitted  herself  the  slight  relaxation  of  a  sarcasm. 

"  Yes.  At  last  I  found  myself  at  the  new  bridge 
that  leads  to  the  camp-meeting  grounds,  when  ahead 
of  me,  there  was  —  I  saw  Fran.  I  was  much  sur 
prised  to  find  her  out  there,  alone." 

"  I  can  understand  that,"  said  Grace  quietly,  "  for 
I  should  have  been  surprised  myself." 

Mrs.  Gregory  turned  upon  Grace.     "  Let  him  go 


GRACE  CAPTURES  THE  OUTPOSTS     183 

on ! "  she  said  with  a  flash  that  petrified  the  secre 
tary. 

"  When  I  came  up  to  the  bridge,  she  was  sitting 
there,  with  some  cards  —  all  alone.  She  had  some 
superstition  about  trying  fortunes  on  a  new  bridge 
at  midnight,  and  that  explains  the  lateness  of  the 
hour.  So  I  persuaded  her  to  come  home,  and  that 
is  all." 

Mrs.  Gregory  breathed  with  relief.  "  What  an 
odd  little  darling!"  she  murmured,  smiling. 

"  What  kind  of  fortune  was  she  telling?  "  Grace 
asked. 

"  Whatever  kind  the  new  bridge  would  give 
her." 

"  Oh,  then  the  cards  stood  for  people,  didn't  they ! 
And  the  card  you  dropped  in  the  yard  was  your 
card,  of  course." 

"  Of  course." 

"  And  did  Fran  have  a  card  to  represent  herself, 
perhaps?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  the  story,"  said  Abbott,  rising. 

"  That  means  she  did.  Then  she  wanted  to  know 
if  you  and  she  would  .  .  .  Mrs.  Gregory,  I 
have  always  felt  that  Fran  has  deceived  us  about 
her  age !  She  is  older  than  she  pretends  to  be !  " 


1 84  FRAN 

"  I  believe  this  concludes  our  bargain,"  said  Ab 
bott,  rising. 

Mrs.  Gregory  was  calm.  "  Miss  Grace,  Fran  told 
me  long  ago  that  she  is  eighteen  years  old ;  she  came 
as  a  little  girl,  because  she  thought  we  would  take 
her  in  the  more  readily,  if  we  believed  her  a  mere 
child." 

"Does  Mr.  Gregory  know  that?" 

"  I  haven't  told  him ;  I  don't  know  whether  Fran 
has  or  not." 

"  You  haven't  told  him !  "  Grace  was  speechless. 
"  You  knew  it,  and  haven't  told  him?  What  ought 
/to  do?" 

"  You  ought  to  keep  your  promise,"  Abbott  re 
torted  hotly. 

"  Sitting  on  that  bridge  at  midnight,  alone,  tell 
ing  people's  fortunes  by  cards.  .  .  .  Professor 
Ashton  —  Mrs.  Gregory !  "  Grace  exclaimed,  with 
one  of  those  flashes  of  inspiration  peculiar  to  her 
sex,  "  that  Fran  is  a  show-girl!  " 

Abbott  started,  but  said  nothing. 

Mrs.  Gregory  rose,  and  spoke  through  her  moth 
er's  ear-trumpet,  "  Shall  we  go  home,  now  ?  " 

"  That  Fran,"  repeated  Grace,  "  is  a  show-girl ! 


GRACE  CAPTURES  THE  OUTPOSTS      185 

She  is  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  old,  and  she  is  a 
show-girl !  " 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  best  for  you  to  ask  her?  " 
"Ask  her?     Her?    No,  I  ask  you!" 
"  Let  me  push  the  chair,"  said  Abbott,  stepping 
to  Mrs.  Gregory's  side.     He  read  in  the  troubled 
face  that  she  had  known  this  secret,  also. 

The  secretary  gazed  at  him  with  a  far-away  look, 
hardly  conscious  that  he  was  beating  retreat,  so  ab 
sorbed  was  she  in  this  revelation.  Now,  indeed,  it 
was  certain  that  Fran,  the  girl  of  eighteen  or  nine 
teen,  Fran,  the  show-girl,  was  an  impostor!  Her 
age  proved  that  Mr.  Gregory  must  have  known  her 
"  father  "  when  he  was  attending  college  in  Spring 
field,  whereas,  believing  her  much  younger,  it  had 
all  the  time  been  taken  for  granted  that  they  had 
been  companions  in  New  York. 

It  would  be  necessary  for  some  one  to  go  to 
Springfield  to  make  investigations.  Grace  had  for 
ever  alienated  Abbott  Ashton,  but  there  was  always 
Robert  Clinton.  He  would  obey  her  every  wish; 
Robert  Clinton  should  go.  And  when  Robert  had 
returned  with  a  full  history  of  Hamilton  Gregory's 
school-days  .it  Springfield,  and  those  of  Gregory's 


186  FRAN 

intimate  friend,  Fran,  with  the  proofs  of  her  con 
spiracy  spread  before  her,  should  be  driven  forth, 
never  again  to  darken  the  home  of  the  philanthro 
pist. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ALLIANCE   WITH    ABBOTT 

T7OR  the  most  part,  that  was  a  silent  walk  to 
Hamilton  Gregory's.  Abbott  Ashton  pushed 
the  wheel-chair,  and  it  was  only  Mrs.  Jefferson,  ig 
norant  of  what  had  taken  place,  who  commented  on 
the  bright  moon,  and  the  relief  of  rose-scented 
breezes  after  the  musty  auditorium  of  Walnut 
Street  church. 

"  They  were  bent  and  determined  on  Fran  going 
to  choir  practice,"  the  old  lady  told  Abbott,  "  so 
Lucy  and  I  went  along  to  encourage  her,  for  they 
say  she  has  a  fine  voice,  and  they  want  all  the 
good  singing  they  can  have  at  Uncle  Tobe  Ful 
ler's  funeral.  Uncle  Tobe,  he  didn't  know  one  tune 
from  another,  but  now  that  he's  dead,  he  knows 
'em  all  —  for  he  was  a  good  man.  I  despise  big 
doings  at  funerals,  but  I  expect  to  go,  and  as  I  can't 
hear  the  solos,  nor  the  preacher  working  up  feel 
ings,  all  I'll  have  to  do  will  be  to  sit  and  look  at  the 
coffin." 


i88  FRAN 

"  Mother,"  said  Mrs.  Gregory,  "  you  are  not 
cheerful  to-night." 

"  No,"  the  other  responded,  "  I  think  it's  from 
sitting  so  long  by  the  Whited  Sepulcher." 

Mrs.  Gregory  spoke  into  the  trumpet,  with  real 
distress  — "  Mother,  mother !  Abbott  won't  under 
stand  you;  he  doesn't  know  you  are  using  a  figure 
of  speech." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  Number  Thirteen,  if 
there's  anything  unlucky  in  figures." 

Abbott  effected  diversion.  "  Mrs.  Gregory,  I'm 
glad  Miss  Noir  agreed  to  say  nothing  about  her  dis 
coveries,  for  the  only  harm  in  them  is  what  people 
might  imagine.  I  was  pretty  uneasy,  at  first;  of 
course  I  knew  that  if  she  felt  she  ought  to  tell  it, 
she  would.  I  never  knew  anybody  so  conscien 
tious." 

There  was  a  pause,  then  Mrs.  Gregory  responded, 
"  She  will  not  tell." 

Abbott  had  seen  them  safely  into  the  house,  and 
had  reached  the  gate  on  his  departure,  when  Fran 
came  running  up.  In  pleased  surprise  he  opened 
the  gate  for  her,  but  she  stopped  in  the  outside 
shadow,  and  he  paused  within  the  yard. 


ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT  189 

"  Fran !  "  he  exclaimed  with  pleasure.  "  Is  the 
practice  ended  ?  " 

She  made  no  response. 

"  Fran,  what's  the  matter?  " 

Silence. 

Abbott  was  both  perplexed  and  hurt.  "  Remem^ 
ber  what  we  said  on  the  new  bridge,"  he  urged; 
"  we're  friends  '  while  we're  together  and  after  we 
part!'" 

"  Somebody  ought  to  burn  that  new  bridge,"  said 
Fran,  in  a  muffled  tone ;  "  it's  no  good  making 
wishes  come  true." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?  Aren't  we  the  best  of 
friends?" 

Fran  collected  herself,  and  spoke  with  cool  dis 
tinctness  :  "  I  have  a  pretty  hard  battle  to  fight,  Mr. 
Ashton,  and  it's  necessary  to  know  who's  on  my 
side,  and  who  isn't.  I  may  not  come  out  ahead; 
but  I'm  not  going  to  lose  out  from  taking  a  foe  for 
a  friend." 

"Which  you  will  kindly  explain?" 

"  You  are  Grace  Noir's  friend  —  that  explains 
it." 

"  I  am  your  friend,  too,  Fran." 


190  FRAN 

"My  friend,  too!"  she  echoed  bitterly.  "Oh, 
thanks  —  also!" 

Abbott  came  through  the  gate,  and  tried  to  read 
her  face.  "  Does  the  fact  that  I  am  her  friend  con 
demn  me  ?  " 

"  No  —  just  classifies  you.  You  couldn't  be  her 
friend  if  you  were  not  a  mirror  in  which  she  sees 
herself;  her  conscience  is  so  sure,  that  she  hasn't 
use  for  anything  but  a  faithful  reflector  of  her 
opinions.  She  empties  her  friends  of  all  person 
ality,  and  leaves  them  filled  with  their  imagination 
of  her  character." 

"  Her  friends  are  mere  puppets,  it  appears,"  Ab 
bott  said,  smiling.  "  But  that's  rather  to  her  credit, 
isn't  it  ?  Would  you  mind  to  explain  your  imagina 
tion  of  her  character?  " 

His  jesting  tone  made  her  impatient.  "  I  don't 
think  her  character  has  ever  had  a  chance  to  develop ; 
she's  too  fixed  on  thinking  herself  what  she  isn't. 
Her  opinion  of  what  she  ought  to  be  is  so  sure,  that 
she  has  never  discovered  what  she  really  is.  And 
you  can't  possibly  hold  a  secret  from  her,  if  you're 
her  friend ;  she  takes  it  from  you  as  one  snatches  a 
toy  from  a  little  child." 


ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT  191 

Abbott  was  still  amused.  "  Has  she  emptied  me 
of  all  she  wants?  " 

"  Yes.  You  have  given  her  strong  weapons 
against  me,  and  you  may  be  sure  she'll  use  them  to 
her  advantage." 

"  Fran,  step  back  into  the  light  —  let  me  see  your 
face;  are  you  in  earnest?  Your  eyes  are  smolder 
ing  —  Oh,  Fran,  those  eyes !  What  weapons  have  I 
given  her?  " 

Fran  set  her  back  against  the  fence,  and  looked 
at  him  darkly.  Now  and  then  some  one  passed,  with 
a  curious  look,  and  constrained  greeting  —  for  in 
Littleburg  every  one  was  known.  "  The  secret  of 
my  age,  and  the  secret  of  my  past." 

"  I  told  her  neither." 

"  As  soon  as  you  and  Mrs.  Gregory  wheeled  away 
Mrs.  Jefferson,"  said  Fran,  "  I  went  right  down 
from  the  choir  loft,  and  straight  over  to  her.  I 
looked  her  in  the  eye,  and  I  asked  what  you  had 
been  telling  about  me.  Why,  you  told  her  every 
thing,  even  that  I  was  trying  to  find  out  whether 
you  and  I  would  ever  —  would  ever  get  married ! 
I  might  as  well  say  it,  it  came  pat  enough  from  her 
—  and  you  told!  Nobody  else  knew.  And  you 


192  FRAN 

dropped  your  King  of  Hearts  over  the  fence  —  you 
told  her  that!  And  when  we  were  standing  there 
at  the  gate,  you  even  tried  —  but  no,  I'll  leave  you 
and  Miss  Grace  to  discuss  such  subjects.  Here  we 
are  at  the  same  gate,  but  I  guess  there's  not  much 
danger,  now !  "  • 

"  Fran !  "  cried  Abbott,  with  burning  cheek's,  "  I 
didn't  tell  her,  upon  my  honor  I  didn't.  I  had  to 
admit  dropping  the  card,  to  keep  her  from  thinking 
you  out  here  at  midnight  with  a  stranger.  She  saw 
us  in  the  shadow,  and  guessed  —  that  other.  I 
didn't  tell  her  anything  about  your  age.  I  didn't 
mention  the  carnival  company." 

Fran's  concentrated  tones  grew  milder :  "  But 
Mrs.  Gregory  has  known  about  the  show  all  this 
time.  She  would  die  before  she'd  tell  on  me." 

"  I  never  told,  Fran.  I'm  not  going  to  say  that 
again;  but  you  shall  believe  me." 

"Of  course,  Abbott.  But  it  just  proves  what  I 
said,  about  her  emptying  her  friends,  about  taking 
their  secrets  from  them  even  without  their  knowing 
she's  doing  it.  I  said  to  her,  sharp  and  quick, 
'  What  have  you  been  saying  about  me,  Miss  Noir  ?  ' 
She  said  — '  I  understand  from  Professor  Ashton 
that  you  are  not  a  young  girl  at  all,  but  a  mas- 


ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT          193 

querader  of  at  least  eighteen  years.'  I  answered  — 
'  Being  a  masquerader  of  at  least  thirty-five,  you 
should  have  found  that  out,  yourself.'  I  hardly 
think  she's  thirty-five ;  it  wasn't  a  fair  blow,  but  you 
have  to  fight  Indians  in  the  brush.  Then  your 
friend  said,  '  Professor  Ashton  informs  me  that  you 
are  a  circus-girl.  Don't  you  think  you've  strayed 
too  far  from  the  tent  ?  '  she  asked.  I  said  — *  Oh,  I 
brought  the  show  with  me;  Professor  Ashton  is  my 
advance  advertising  agent.'  Then  she  said  that  if 
I'd  leave,  Mr.  Gregory  need  never  know  that  I'm 
an  impostor.  But  I  told  her  no  tickets  are  going  to 
be  returned.  I  said  — '  This  show  absolutely  takes 
place,  rain  or  shine.' ' 

"  Fran,"  said  Abbott  in  distress,  "  I  want  to  talk 
this  over  —  come  here  in  the  yard  where  you're  not 
so  conspicuous." 

"  Show-girls  ought  to  be  conspicuous.  No,  sir,  I 
stay  right  here  in  the  glaring  moonlight.  It  doesn't 
call  for  darkness  to  tell  me  anything  that  is  on  your 
mind,  Professor." 

"  Fran,  you  can't  hold  me  responsible  for  what 
Miss  Grace  guessed.  I  tell  you,  she  guessed  every 
thing.  I  was  trying  to  defend  you  —  suddenly  she 
saw  through  it  all.  I  don't  know  how  it  was  — 


194  FRAN 

maybe  Mrs.  Gregory  can  explain,  as  she's  a  woman. 
You  shall  not  deem  me  capable  of  adding  an  atom 
to  your  difficulties.  You  shall  feel  that  I'm  your 
friend  '  while  we're  together  and  after  we  part.' 
[You  must  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  need 
your  smile."  His  voice  trembled  with  sudden  ten 
derness.  "  You  must  accept  what  I  say  as  the 
greatest  fact  in  my  life  —  that  I  can't  be  happy,  if 
you  are  angry  with  me." 

She  looked  at  him  searchingly,  then  her  face  re 
laxed  to  the  eve  of  revolution.  "  Who  have  you 
been  trying  to  get  a  glimpse  of,  all  the  times  you 
parade  the  street  in  front  of  our  house?" 

Abbott  declared,  "Yon!"  In  mute  appeal  he 
held  out  his  hand. 

"  You're  a  weak  brother,  but  here  — "  And  she 
slipped  her  hand  into  his.  "If  she'd  been  in  con 
versation  with  me,  I  wouldn't  have  let  her  have  any 
presentiments.  It  takes  talent  to  keep  from  telling 
what  you  know,  but  genius  to  keep  the  other  fellow 
from  guessing.  What  I  hate  about  it  is,  that  the 
very  next  time  you  fall  into  her  hands,  you'll  be  at 
her  mercy.  If  I  told  you  a  scheme  I've  been  de 
vising,  she'd  take  it  from  you  in  broad  daylight. 
She  can  always  prove  she's  right,  because  she  has 


ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT  195 

the  verse  for  it, —  and  to  deny  her  is  to  deny  In 
spiration.  And  if  she  had  her  way, —  she  thinks 
I'm  a  sort  of  dissipation  — •-  there'd  be  a  national  pro 
hibition  of  Fran." 

"If  there  were  a  national  prohibition  of  Fran, 
I'd  be  the  first  to  smuggle  you  in  somehow,  little 
Nonpareil.  I  do  believe  that  Miss  Grace  is  the 
most  conscientious  person  I  ever  knew,  except  Mr. 
Gregory.  Just  the  same,  I'm  your  friend.  Isn't 
it  something  for  me  to  have  taken  you  on  trust  as 
I  have,  from  the  very  beginning?  " 

His  brown  eyes  were  so  earnest  that  Fran  stepped 
into  the  shadow.  "  It's  more  than  something,  Ab 
bott.  Your  trust  is  about  all  I  have.  It's  just  like 
me  to  be  wanting  more  than  I  have.  I'm  going  to 
confide  in  you  my  scheme.  Let's  talk  it  over  in 
whispers."  They  put  their  heads  together.  "  To 
morrow,  Grace  Noir  is  going  to  the  city  with  Bob 
Clinton  to  select  music  for  the  choir  —  he  doesn't 
know  any  more  about  music  than  poor  Uncle  Tobe 
Fuller,  but  you  see,  he's  still  alive.  It  will  be  the 
first  day  she's  been  off  the  place  since  I  came.  While 
she's  away,  I  mean  to  make  my  grand  effort." 

"At  what,  Little  Wonder?" 

"  At  driving  her  away  for  good.     I'm  going  to 


196  FRAN 

offer  myself  as  secretary,  and  with  her  out  of  sight, 
I'm  hoping  to  win  the  day." 

"  But  she's  been  his  secretary  for  five  years  —  is 
it  reasonable  he'd  give  her  up?  And  would  it  be 
honorable  for  you  to  work  against  her  in  that  way  ? 
Besides,  Fran,  she  is  really  necessary  to  Mr.  Greg 
ory's  great  charity  enterprises  — 

"  The  more  reason  for  getting  rid  of  her." 

"  I  don't  understand  how  you  mean  that.  I  know 
Mr.  Gregory's  work  would  be  seriously  crippled. 
And  it  would  be  a  great  blow  to  Walnut  Street 
church  —  she's  always  there." 

"  Still,  you  see  she  can't  stay." 

"  No,  I  don't  see.  You  and  Miss  Grace  must  be 
reconciled." 

"  Oh,  Abbott,  can't  you  understand,  or  is  it  that 
you  just  won't?  It  isn't  on  my  account  that  Miss 
Noir  must  leave  this  house.  She's  going  to  bring 
trouble  —  she's  already  done  it.  I've  had  lots  of 
experience,  and  when  I  see  people  hurrying  down 
hill,  I  expect  to  find  them  at  the  bottom,  not  because 
it's  in  the  people,  but  because  it's  in  the  direction. 
I  don't  care  how  no-account  folks  are,  if  they  keep 
doggedly  climbing  up  out  of  the  valley,  just  give 
'em  time,  and  they'll  reach  the  mountain-top.  I  be- 


ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT          197 

lieve  some  mighty  good-intentioned  men  are  stum 
bling  down  hill,  carrying  their  religion  right  into 
hell." 

"  Hush,  little  friend !  You  don't  understand  what 
religion  is." 

"  If  I  can't  find  out  from  its  fruits,  I  don't  want 
to  know." 

"Of  course.  But  consider  how  Miss  Grace's  la 
bors  are  blessing  the  helpless." 

"  Abbott,  unless  the  fruits  of  religion  are  fla 
vored  by  love,  they're  no  more  account  than  apples 
taken  with  bitter-rot  —  not  worth  fifty  cents  a  bar 
rel.  The  trouble  with  a  good  deal  of  the  church- 
fruit  to-day  is  bitter-rot." 

Abbott  asked  slyly,  "  What  about  your  fruit,  out 
there  in  the  world?  " 

"  Oh,"  Fran  confessed,  with  a  gleam,  "  we're  not 
in  the  orchard-business  at  all,  out  here." 

Abbott  laid  his  hand  earnestly  upon  her  arm. 
"  Fran !  Come  in  and  help  us  spray." 

"  You  dear  old  prosy,  preachy  professor !  "  she 
exclaimed  affectionately,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of 
it  I've  half  a  mind  to  try,  really.  Wouldn't  Grace 
Noir  just  die?  .  .  .  O  Lord,  there  she  comes, 
now ! " 


198  FRAN 

Fran  left  the  disconsolate  young  man  in  wild  pre 
cipitation,  and  flew  into  the  house.  He  wondered 
if  she  had  been  seen  standing  there,  and  he  realized 
that,  if  so,  the  purest  motives  could  not  outweigh 
appearances.  He  turned  off  in  another  direction, 
and  Gregory  and  Grace  came  slowly  toward  the 
house,  having,  without  much  difficulty,  eliminated 
Simon  Jefferson  from  their  company. 

In  truth,  Simon,  rather  than  be  improved  by  their 
conversation,  had  dived  down  a  back  alley,  and 
found  entrance  through  the  side  door.  When  Ham 
ilton  Gregory  and  his  secretary  came  into  the  re 
ception  hall,  the  old  bachelor  lay  upon  a  divan  think 
ing  of  his  weak  heart  —  Fran's  flight  from  the 
choir  loft  had  reminded  him  of  it  —  and  Mrs.  Jef 
ferson  was  fanning  him,  as  if  he  were  never  to  be 
a  grown  man.  Mrs.  Gregory  sat  near  the  group, 
silently  embroidering  in  white  silk.  Fran  had 
hastily  thrown  herself  upon  the  stainvay,  and,  with 
half -closed  eyes,  looked  as  if  she  had  been  there  a 
long  time. 

"  Fran,"  said  Mr.  Gregory  coldly,  "  you  left  the 
choir  practice  before  we  were  two-thirds  done.  Of 
course  I  could  hardly  expect  you  — "  he  looked  at 
his  wife — "to  stay,  although  your  presence  would 


ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT  199 

certainly  have  kept  Fran  there;  and  it  does  look  as 
if  we  should  be  willing  to  resort  to  any  expedient  to 
keep  her  there !  " 

"How  would  a  lock  and  chain  do?"  Fran  in 
quired  meekly. 

"  I  don't  think  she  came  straight  home,  either," 
remarked  Grace  Noir  significantly.  "  Did  you, 
Fran?" 

"  Miss  Noir,"  said  Fran,  smiling  at  her  through 
the  banister-slats,  "you  are  so  satisfactory;  you 
always  say  just  about  what  I  expect.  Yes,  I  came 
straight  home.  I'm  glad  it's  your  business,  so  you 
could  ask." 

Hamilton  Gregory  turned  to  his  wife  again,  with 
restraint  more  marked.  "  Next  Sunday  is  roll-call 
day,  Mrs.  Gregory.  The  board  has  decided  to  re 
vise  the  lists.  We've  been  carrying  so  many  names 
that  it's  a  burden  to  the  church.  The  world  re 
proaches  us,  saying,  'Isn't  So-and-so  a  member? 
He  never  attends,  does  he  ? '  I  do  hope  you  will 
go  next  Sunday !  " 

Mrs.  Gregory  looked  down  at  her  work  thought 
fully,  then  said,  "  Mother  would  be  left  — " 

"  It's  just  this  way,"  her  husband  interposed  ab 
ruptly :  "  If  no  excuses,  such  as  sickness,  are  sent, 


200  FRAN 

and  if  the  people  haven't  been  coming  for  months, 
and  don't  intend  coming,  we  are  simply  determined 
to  drop  the  names  —  strike  'em  out.  We  believe 
church  members  should  show  where  they  stand. 
And  —  and  if  you  — " 

Mrs.  Gregory  looked  up  quietly.  Her  voice 
seemed  woven  of  the  silk  threads  she  was  stitching 
in  the  white  pattern.  "  If  I  am  not  a  member  of 
the  church,  sitting  an  hour  in  the  building  couldn't 
make  me  one." 

Simon  Jefferson  cried  out,  "  Is  that  my  sister 
Lucy?  Blessed  if  I  thought  she  had  so  much 
spirit !  " 

"Do  you  call  that  spirit?"  returned  Gregory, 
with  displeasure. 

"  Well !  "  snorted  Simon,  "  what  do  you  call  it, 
then?" 

"  Perhaps,"  responded  Gregory,  with  marked  dis 
approbation,  "  perhaps  it  was  spirit." 

Grace,  still  attired  for  the  street,  looked  down 
upon  Mrs.  Gregory  as  if  turned  to  stone.  Her 
beautiful  face  expressed  something  like  horror  at 
the  other's  irreverence. 

Fran   shook   back   her  hair,   and   watched   with 


ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT  201 

gleaming  eyes  from  behind  the  slats,  not  unlike  a 
small  wild  creature  peering  from  its  cage. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Fran,  "  Miss  Noir  feels  so  bad!  " 

Grace  swept  from  the  hall,  her  rounded  figure  in 
stinct  with  the  sufferings  of  a  martyr. 

Fran  murmured,  "  That  killed  her !  " 

"  And  you! "  cried  Gregory,  turning  suddenly  in 
blind  anger  upon  the  other  — "  you  don't  care  whose 
heart  you  break." 

"I  haven't  any  power  over  hearts,"  retorted 
Fran,  gripping  her  fingers  till  her  hands  were  little 
white  balls.  "Oh,  if  I  only  had!  I'd  get  at  'em, 
if  I  could  —  like  this  .  .  ." 

She  leaped  to  her  feet. 

"  Am  I  always  to  be  defied  by  you  ?  "  he  ex 
claimed  ;  "  is  there  to  be  no  end  to  it  ?  But  sup 
pose  I  put  an  end  to  it,  myself  —  tell  you  that  this 
is  no  place  for  you  — " 

"  You  shall  never  say  that !  "  Mrs.  Gregory  spoke 
up,  distinctly,  but  not  in  his  loud  tones.  She 
dropped  her  work  in  some  agitation,  and  drew  Fran 
to  her  heart.  "  I  have  a  friend  here,  Hamilton  — 
one  friend  —  and  she  must  stay." 

"  Don't  you  be  uneasy,  dear  one,"  Fran  looked 


202  FRAN 

up  lovingly  into  the  frightened  face.  "  He  won't 
tell  me  to  go.  He  won't  put  an  end  to  it.  He 
won't  tell  me  anything! " 

"  Listen  to  me,  Lucy,"  said  Gregory,  his  tone  al 
tering,  "  yes,  she  must  stay  —  that's  settled  —  she 
must  stay.  Of  course.  But  you  —  why  will  you 
refuse  what  I  ask,  when  for  years  you  were  one  of 
the  most  faithful  attendants  at  the  Walnut  Street 
church?  I  am  asking  you  to  go  next  Sunday  be 
cause —  well,  you  know  how  people  judge  by  ap 
pearances.  I'm  not  asking  it  for  my  sake  —  of 
course  7  know  your  real  character  —  but  go  for 
Miss  Grace's  sake  —  go  to  show  her  where  you 
stand.  Lucy,  I  told  her  on  the  way  from  choir 
practice  —  I  promised  her  that  you  should  be 
there." 

"How  is  it  about  church  attendance,  anyway?" 
asked  Fran,  with  the  air  of  one  who  seeks  after 
knowledge.  "  I  thought  you  went  to  church  for 
the  Lord's  sake,  and  not  for  Miss  Noir's." 

"  I  have  given  you  my  answer,  Mr.  Gregory,"  said 
his  wife  faintly,  "  but  I  am  sorry  that  it  should 
make  me  seem  obstinate  — " 

He  uttered  a  groan,  and  left  the  hall  in  despair. 
His  gesture  said  that  he  must  give  it  up. 


ALLIANCE  WITH  ABBOTT          203 

Mrs.  Gregory  folded  her  work,  her  face  pale  and 
drawn,  her  lips  tremulous.  She  looked  at  Fran 
and  tried  to  smile.  "  We  must  go  to  rest,  now," 
she  said  — "  if  we  can." 


CHAPTER  XIV, 

FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE! 

'  I  ^HE  next  day  found  Fran  the  bluest  of  the  blue. 
No  laughing  now,  as  she  sat  alone,  half-way 
up  the  ladder  leading  to  Gregory's  barn-loft.  She 
meant  to  be  just  as  miserable  as  she  pleased,  since 
there  was  no  observer  to  be  deceived  by  sowing 
cheat-seed  of  merriment. 

"  The  battle's  on  now,  to  a  finish,"  muttered  Fran 
despondently,  "  yet  here  I  sit,  and  here  I  scrooch." 
With  her  skirts  gathered  up  in  a  listless  arm  till  they 
were  unbecomingly  abridged,  with  every  muscle  and 
fiber  seeming  to  sag  like  an  ill-supported  fence, 
Fran's  thoughts  were  at  the  abysmal  stage  of  dis 
couragement.  For  a  time,  there  seemed  in  her  heart 
not  the  tiniest  taper  alight,  and  in  this  blackness, 
both  hope  and  failure  were  alike  indistinguishable. 

"  But  we'll  see,"  she  cried,  at  last  coming  down 
the  ladder,  "  we'll  see!  "  and  she  clenched  her  fists, 
flung  open  the  barn-door  and  marched  upon  the 
house  with  battle  in  her  eyes.  Girding  up  her  loins 

204 


FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE          205 

—  that  is,  smoothing  her  hair  —  and  sharpening  her 
weapons  for  instant  use,  she  opened  the  library 
door. 

She  knew  Grace  Noir  had  gone  to  the  city  with 
Robert  Clinton,  and  yet  her  feeling  on  seeing  Ham 
ilton  Gregory  alone,  was  akin  to  surprise.  How 
queerly  lonesome  he  looked,  without  his  secretary! 
There  was  something  ghostly  about  Grace  Noir's 
typewriter  —  it  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  Fran's 
power  like  an  enemy's  trophy  too  easily  captured. 
The  pens  and  pencils  were  at  her  mercy,  so  readily 
surrendered  that  they  suggested  treachery.  Did  an 
ambuscade  await  her  ?  But  impossible  —  no  train 
returned  from  the  city  until  nine  in  the  evening, 
and  it  was  now  only  three  in  the  afternoon  —  six 
hours  of  clear  field. 

She  found  the  philanthropist  immersed  in  day 
dreams.  So  deep  was  he  below  the  surface  of 
every-day  thoughts,  that  he  might  be  likened  to  a 
man  walking  on  the  floor  of  the  sea.  The  thought 
of  the  good  his  money  and  influence  were  accom 
plishing  thrilled  his  soul,  while  through  the  refined 
ether  of  this  pious  joy  appeared  the  loveliness  of 
.Grace  Noir,  lending  something  like  spiritual  sensu- 
ousness  to  his  vision  of  duty. 


206  FRAN 

He  did  not  want  the  applause  of  the  general  pub 
lic  any  more  than  he  wanted  his  past  unearthed.  It 
was  enough  if  his  philanthropy  was  known  to  God 
and  Grace  Noir.  She  stood,  to  his  mind,  as  a  sym 
bol  of  religion  —  there  can  be  no  harm  in  reverenc 
ing  symbols. 

Fran's  eyes  drew  him  abruptly  from  the  bottom 
of  the  sea.  He  emerged,  chilled  and  trembling. 

"  Fran,"  he  said,  as  if  she  had  appeared  in  an-- 
swer  to  a  summons,  "  I  am  unhappy  about  you. 
Your  determination  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
church  not  only  distresses  but  embarrasses  me.  You 
have  insisted  on  coming  into  my  life.  Then  why 
do  you  disgrace  it?  You  pretend  that  you  want  to 
be  liked  by  us,  yet  you  play  cards  with  strangers 
at  night  —  it's  outrageous.  You  even  threw  a 
card  in  my  yard  where  a  card  was  never  seen 
before." 

"Do  you  think  cards  so  very  wicked?"  asked 
Fran,  looking  at  him  curiously. 

"  You  know  what  I  think.  I  look  on  gambling 
as  immoral.  But  it  ought  to  be  enough  for  me 
simply  to  forbid  it.  Cards,  and  dancing,  and  the 
theater  —  these  things  are  what  destroy  the  influ 
ence  of  the  church." 


FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE          207 

"  And  not  going  to  the  meeting-house,"  re 
marked  Fran,  with  quiet  irony, — "  that's  perfectly 
dreadful." 

She  closed  the  door,  and  placed  her  back  against 
it.  A  shake  of  her  head  seemed  to  throw  aside 
what  they  had  been  saying  as  of  no  more  importance 
than  the  waving  tresses  of  black  hair.  She  looked 
him  in  the  eyes,  and  said  abruptly  — 

"  I  want  to  be  your  secretary." 

Hamilton  gripped  his  chair.  He  found  the  air 
hard  to  breathe  after  his  submarine  inaction  — 
doubtless  he  had  stayed  under  too  long.  "  I  have 
a  secretary,"  he  retorted,  looking  at  her  resentfully. 
He  checked  words  he  would  have  liked  to  utter,  on 
reflecting  that  his  secret  was  in  Fran's  keeping.  She 
need  but  declare  it,  and  his  picture  would  blossom 
forth  in  all  the  papers  of  the  big  cities.  How  Grace 
would  shrink  from  him,  if  she  knew  the  truth  — 
how  that  magnificent  figure  would  turn  its  back 
upon  him  —  and  those  scornful,  imperious,  never- 
faltering  eyes.  .  .  . 

Fran  drew  nearer.  She  seated  herself  upon  the 
arm  of  a  chair,  one  foot  on  the  floor,  and  spoke  with 
restrained  intensity :  "  I'm  well  enough  educated. 
I  can  take  dictation  and  make  good  copy." 


208  FRAN 

He  allowed  his  tone  to  sound  defiance  — "  I  al 
ready  have  a  secretary." 

Fran  continued  with  an  effort,  "  Mother  didn't 
like  studying,  very  well,  but  she  was  determined  to 
get  me  out  of  the  condition  I  was  born  in;  she  taught 
me  all  she  knew.  When  I  caught  up,  she'd  go  dig 
ging  ahead  on  her  own  account  to  pull  me  a  little 
higher.  Wasn't  she  splendid !  So  patient  - 
Fran  paused,  and  stared  straight  before  her,  straight 
into  the  memory  of  her  mother's  eyes. 

Gregory  reflected  — "  If  this  child  had  not  come, 
had  not  intruded  herself  upon  my  life!  Haven't  I 
suffered  enough  for  my  follies?  " 

"  When  mother  died,"  Fran  resumed,  "  she 
thought  maybe  Uncle  Ephraim  had  mellowed,  so  I 
went  to  him,  because  I  thought  I  couldn't  get  along 
without  love."  She  shook  her  head,  with  a  pa 
thetic  little  smile.  "  But  I  could !  Uncle  Ephraim 
didn't  mellow,  he  dried  up.  He  blamed  me  for 
being  born  —  I  think,  myself,  it  was  a  mistake.  He 
turned  me  out,  but  I  was  so  tough  I  just  couldn't  be 
winter-killed.  ,  After  that  I  went  back  to  the  show 
and  stocked  up  in  experience.  I  mention  it  to  point 
out  that  a  mild  little  job  like  being  your  private 
secretary  wouldn't  strain  a  muscle.  I  expect  I  could 


FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE          209 

even  be  a  foreign  secretary.  It's  as  easy  to  walk 
a  rope  that's  rigged  high,  as  one  near  the  ground. 
All  the  trouble  is  in  the  imagination." 

Gregory's  voice  cut  across  hers,  showing  no  com 
prehension  of  her  last  words :  "  My  secretary  must 
be  in  sympathy  with  my  work.  To  exercise  such 
talents  as  I  have,  is  my  religion,  and  I  need  a  helper 
whose  eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  higher  life.  This  is 
final,  and  the  subject  must  never  be  reopened.  I 
find  it  very  painful." 

Fran's  discovery  that  he  had  not  heard  her  plea, 
crimsoned  her  face.  She  jumped  from  the  arm 
chair,  breathing  rapidly.  "  Then,"  she  cried,  "  if 
you  won't  have  me,  get  another.  The  one  you  have 
must  go." 

"  She  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  coldly  re 
sponded. 

"  Yes,"  Fran  retorted  violently,  "  I  tell  you  she 
must  go !  " 

He  struck  the  table  with  his  palm.     "  Never !  " 

"Shall  I  use  my  last  resource?"  Fran's  eyes 
gleamed  ominously. 

The  hand  upon  the  table  became  a  fist.  That 
was  his  only  reply. 

"  I  would  entreat  you,"  said  Fran,  faltering,  "  and 


210  FRAN 

with  tears  —  but  what  good  would  it  do?  None. 
There's  no  use  for  one  woman  to  weep  if  another 
woman  is  smiling.  Dismiss  your  secretary." 

He  leaned  toward  her  from  over  the  table,  and 
spoke  in  a  low  level  tone :  "  I  am  going  to  appeal 
to  your  better  nature.  Think  of  the  girls  of  the 
street  who  need  rescue,  and  the  women  of  the  cities 
who  are  dying  from  neglect  and  vice.  If  you  hin 
der  my  work,  let  the  souls  of  these  outcasts  be  upon 
your  soul !  You  can  ruin  me,  but  not  without  ruin 
ing  my  good  works.  I  don't  ask  you  to  keep  silent 
on  my  account  —  what  am  I  but  an  instrument  in 
the  hands  of  Providence?  —  but  for  the  sake  of  the 
homeless  thousands.  I  have  atoned  for  my  past, 
but  the  world,  always  ready  to  crucify  the  divine, 
would  rejoice  to  point  the  ringer  of  scorn  at  me, 
as  if  I  were  still  the  fool  of  twenty  years  ago." 

"  But  your  secretary  — " 

"  She  is  a  vital  factor  in  my  work.  Remove  her, 
and  the  work  ceases." 

"  How  important !  "  cried  Fran,  throwing  back 
her  head.  "  What  will  God  do  when  she  dies?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  have  gone  too  far.  Still,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  replace  her." 


FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE          211 

Fran  made  a  step  toward  him  — "  My  mother  was 
replaced." 

He  started  up.  "  You  shall  not  speak  of  that. 
She  lived  her  life,  and  I  demand  the  right  to  live 
mine.  I  tell  you,  the  past  is  ended." 

"  But  I  am  here,"  returned  Fran.  "  I  have  not 
ended.  Can't  you  look  into  my  face  and  see  my 
mother  living?  She  paid  for  her  secret  marriage, 
wandering  over  the  face  of  the  earth  with  her  baby, 
trying  to  find  you.  I  don't  deny  that  you've  paid 
for  all  —  yes,  even  for  your  desertion  and  your  liv 
ing  a  hidden  life  in  this  town.  Maybe  you've  suf 
fered  enough.  But  that  isn't  the  question.  Look 
at  me.  I  am  here.  I  have  come  as  truly  out  of 
your  past  as  out  of  the  past  qf  my  darling,  uncom 
plaining  —  what  did  you  call  her  ?  — '  friend  '.  And 
being  here,  I  ask,  '  What  will  you  do  with  me  ?  '  All 
I  want  is  —  just  a  little  love." 

The  long  loneliness  of  her  life  found  expression 
in  the  eager  voice,  in  the  yearning  eyes.  As  he 
stared  at  her,  half-stupefied,  he  imagined  she  was 
holding  out  her  arms  to  him  in  pleading.  But  it 
was  not  this  erect  form,  slight  and  tense,  that 
reached  forth  as  if  to  clasp  him  to  her  heart;  it 


212  FRAN 

was  a  memory  of  his  youth,  a  memory  that  in  some 
odd  manner  blurred  his  perception  of  the  living 
presence.  From  the  fragile  body  of  Fran,  some 
thing  leaped  toward  him,  enveloping,  overpower 
ing. 

It  was  partly  Fran,  and  partly  somebody  else  — 
how  well  he  knew  that  other  somebody,  that  dead 
woman  who  had  found  reincarnation  in  the  soul  of 
this  wanderer. 

She  thought  his  covered  face  a  token  of  weaken 
ing.  "  You  must  have  loved  my  mother  once.  Is 
it  all  so  dead  and  forgotten  that  there  is  none  left 
for  your  child  ?  " 

But  she  was  seeking  to  play  upon  strings  that  had 
long  since  ceased  to  vibrate.  He  could  not  bring 
back,  even  in  retrospect,  the  emotions  inspired  by 
Josephine  Derry.  Those  strings  had  been  tuned  to 
other  love-harmonies.  To  remember  Fran's  mother 
was  to  bring  back  not  the  rapture  of  a  first  passion, 
but  the  garrish  days  of  disillusionment.  He  even 
felt  something  like  resentment  because  she  had  re 
mained  faithful  —  her  search  and  unending  love  for 
him  made  so  much  more  of  his  desertion  than  ever 
he  had  made. 

He  could  not  tell  Fran  that  he  had  never  loved 


FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE          213 

her  mother.  The  dead  must  not  be  reproached ;  the 
living  could  not  be  denied  —  so  he  was  silent. 

His  silence  inspired  Fran  with  hope.  "  I  am  so 
lonely,  so  lonely !  "  she  murmured  plaintively,  "  so 
very  lonely!  There  seems  a  reason  for  everybody 
but  me  —  I  can't  be  explained.  That's  why  I  am 
disliked.  If  there  could  be  one  heart  for  me  to  claim 
—  whose  heart  should  it  be?  Does  no  sort  of  feel 
ing  tell  you  whose  heart  it  should  be?  " 

"Of  course  you  are  lonely,  child,  but  that  is  your 
fault.  You  are  in  this  house  on  a  footing  of  equal 
ity,  and  all  seem  to  like  you,  except  Miss  Grace  — • 
and  I  must  say,  her  disapproval  disturbs  you  very 
little.  But  you  won't  adopt  our  ways.  You  get 
yourself  virtually  expelled  from  school  —  do  you 
blame  me  for  that  ?  You  won't  go  to  church  — 
can  you  expect  church  people  to  like  you?  You 
make  everybody  talk  by  your  indiscreet  behavior  — 
then  wonder  that  the  town  shuns  your  society,  and 
complain  because  you  feel  lonesome!" 

Fran's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  If  you  believe 
in  me  —  if  you  try  to  like  me  —  that's  all  I  ask. 
The  whole  town  can  talk,  if  I  have  you.  I  don't 
care  for  the  world  and  its  street  corners  —  there  are 
no  street  corners  in  my  world." 


214  FRAN 

"  But,  child  — " 

!t  You  never  call  me  Fran  if  you  can  help  it,"  she 
interposed  passionately.  "  Even  the  dogs  have 
names.  Call  me  by  mine;  it's  Fran.  Say  it,  say 
it.  Call  me  —  oh,  father,  father.  I  want  your 
love." 

"  Hush !  "  he  gasped,  ashen  pale.  "  You  will  be 
overheard." 

She  extended  her  arms  wildly :  "  What  do  you 
know  about  God,  except  that  He's  Father.  That's 
all  —  Father  —  and  you  worship  Him  as  His  son. 
Yet  you  want  me  to  care  for  your  religion.  Then 
why  don't  you  show  me  the  way  to  God  ?  Can  you 
love  Him  and  deny  your  own  child  ?  Am  I  to  pray 
to  Him  as  my  Father  in  Heaven,  but  not  dare  ac 
knowledge  my  father  on  earth  ?  No !  I  don't 
know  how  others  feel,  but  I'll  have  to  reach  heav 
enly  things  through  human  things.  And  I  tell  you 
that  you  are  standing  between  me  and  God,  just  as 
the  lives  of  so  many  Christians  hide  God  from  the 
world." 

"  Hush,  hush!  "  cried  Gregory.  "  Child!  this  is 
sacrilege !  " 

"  No,  it  is  not.     I  tell  you,  I  can't  see  God,  be- 


FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE          215 

cause  you're  in  the  way.  You  pray  '  Our  Father 
who  art  in  Heaven  .  .  .  give  us  this  day  our 
daily  bread.'  And  I  pray  to  you,  and  I  say,  My 
father  here  on  earth,  give  me  —  give  me  —  your 
love.  That's  what  I  want  —  nothing  else  —  I  want 
it  so  bad  .  .  .  I'm  dying  for  it,  father,  can't 
you  understand  ?  Look  —  I'm  praying  for  it  — " 
She  threw  herself  wildly  at  his  feet. 

Deeply  moved,  he  tried  to  lift  her  from  the 
ground. 

"  No,"  cried  Fran,  scarcely  knowing  what  she 
said,  "  I  will  not  get  up  till  you  grant  my  prayer. 
I'm  not  asking  for  the  full  rich  love  a  child  has  the 
right  to  expect  —  but  give  me  a  crust,  to  keep  me 
alive  —  father,  give  me  my  daily  bread.  You 
needn't  think  God  is  going  to  answer  your  prayers, 
if  you  refuse  mine." 

Hamilton  Gregory  took  her  in  his  arms  and  held 
her  to  his  breast.  "  Fran,"  he  said  brokenly,  "  my 
unfortunate  child  .  .  .  my  daughter  —  oh, 
why  were  you  born?" 

"  Yes,"  sobbed  Fran,  resting  her  head  upon  his 
bosom,  "  yes,  why  was  I  born?  " 

"  You  break   my  heart,"   he  sobbed  with  her. 


216  FRAN 

"Fran,  say  the  word,  and  I  will  tell  everything;  I 
will  acknowledge  you  as  my  daughter,  and  if  my 
wife—" 

Fran  shook  her  head.  "  You  owe  no  more  to 
my  mother  than  to  her,"  she  said,  catching  her 
breath.  "  No,  the  secret  must  be  kept  —  always. 
Nothing  belongs  to  us  but  the  future,  since  even  the 
present  belongs  to  the  past.  Father  —  I  must  never 
call  you  that  except  when  we  are  alone  —  I  must 
always  whisper  it,  like  a  prayer  —  father,  let  me  be 
your  secretary." 

It  was  strange  that  this  request  should  surround 
Fran  with  the  chill  atmosphere  of  a  tomb.  His  em 
brace  relaxed  insensibly.  His  moment  of  self-ab 
negation  had  passed,  and  life  appeared  suddenly  at 
the  level.  He  looked  at  his  daughter  in  frightened 
bewilderment,  as  if  afraid  she  had  drawn  him  too 
far  from  his  security  for  further  hiding.  During 
the  silence,  she  awaited  his  decision. 

It  was  because  of  her  tumultuous  emotions  that 
she  failed  to  hear  advancing  footsteps. 

"  Some  one  is  coming,"  he  exclaimed,  with  ill- 
concealed  relief.  "  We  mustn't  be  seen  thus  —  we 
would  be  misunderstood."  He  strode  to  the  win- 


FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE          217 

dow,  and  pretended  to  look  out.  His  face  cleared 
momentarily. 

The  door  opened,  and  Grace  Noir  started  in,  then 
paused  significantly.  "Am  I  interrupting?"  she 
asked,  in  quietest  accent. 

"  Certainly  not,"  Gregory  breathed  freedom. 
His  surprise  was  so'  joyful  that  he  was  carried  be 
yond  himself.  "Grace!  It's  Grace!  Then  you 
didn't  go  to  the  city  with  Bob.  There  wasn't  any 
train  — 

"  I  am  here — "  began  Grace  easily  — 

"  Yes,  of  course,  that's  the  main  thing,"  his  de 
light  could  not  be  held  in  check.  "  You  are  here, 
indeed !  And  you  are  looking  —  I  mean  you  look 
well  —  I  mean  you  are  not  ill  —  your  return  is  so 
unexpected." 

"  I  am  here,"  she  steadily  persisted,  "  because  I 
learned  something  that  affects  my  interests.  I  went 
part  of  the  way  with  Mr.  Clinton,  but  after  thinking 
over  what  had  been  told  me,  I  decided  to  leave  the 
train  at  the  next  station.  I  have  been  driven  back 
in  a  carriage.  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Mr.  Gregory, 
that  I  am  urged  to  accept  a  responsible  position  in 
Chicago." 


218  FRAN 

He  understood  that  she  referred  to  marriage  with 
Robert  Clinton.  "  But  —  "  he  began,  very  pale. 

She  repeated,  "  A  responsible  position  in  Chicago. 
And  I  was  told,  this  morning,  that  while  I  was  away, 
Fran  meant  to  apply  for  the  secretaryship,  thus  tak 
ing  advantage  of  my  absence." 

Fran's  face  looked  oddly  white  and  old,  in  its 
oval  of  black  hair.  "Who  told  you  this  truth?" 
she  demanded,  with  a  menacing  gleam  of  teeth. 

"  Who  knew  of  your  intentions?"  the  other 
gracefully  said.  "  But  that  is  no  matter.  The  point 
is  that  I  have  this  Chicago  opportunity.  So  if  Mr. 
Gregory  wants  to  employ  you,  I  must  know  it  at 
once,  to  make  my  arrangements  accordingly." 

"  Can  you  imagine,"  Hamilton  cried  reproach 
fully,  "  that  without  any  warning,  I  would  make  a 
change?  Certainly  not.  I  have  no  intention  of 
employing  Fran.  The  idea  is  impossible.  More 
than  that,  it  is  —  er  —  it  is  absolutely  preposterous. 
Would  I  calmly  tear  down  what  you  and  I  have  been 
building  up  so  carefully?" 

"  Then  you  had  already  refused  Fran  before  I 
came?" 

"I  had  — hadn't  I,  Fran?" 

Fran  gave  her  father  a  look  such  as  had  never 


FIGHTING  FOR  HER  LIFE          219 

before  come  into  her  dark  eyes  —  a  look  of  re 
proach,  a  look  that  said,  "  I  can  not  fight  back  be 
cause  of  the  agony  in  my  heart."  She  went  away 
silent  and  with  downcast  head. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN    SURE-ENOUGH    COUNTRY 

/"\NE  morning,  more  than  a  month  after  the  clos 
ing  days  of  school,  Abbott  Ashton  chanced  to 
look  from  his  bedroom  window  as  Hamilton  Greg 
ory's  buggy,  with  Fran  in  it,  passed. 

There  were  no  more  examination-papers  for  Ab 
bott  to  struggle  with;  but,  like  bees  who  spend  the 
pleasantest  weather  in  hardest  work,  he  was  laying 
up  mathematical  sweetness  and  psychological  succu 
lence  against  the  clay  when  he  might  become  a  pro 
fessor  at  Yale  or  Harvard. 

Unthrifty  Fran,  on  the  contrary,  was  bent  upon 
no  mission  of  self-improvement.  Long  fishing- 
poles  projecting  from  the  back  of  the  buggy,  pro 
tested  against  the  commercialism  of  the  age;  their 
yellow  hue  streaked  the  somber  background  of  a 
money-getting  world,  while  the  very  joints  of  the 
poles  mocked  at  continuity  of  purpose. 

By  Fran's  side,  Abbott  discovered  a  man.  True, 
it  was  "  only  "  Simon  Jefferson ;  still,  for  all  his 

220 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      221 

fifty  years  and  his  weak  heart,  it  was  not  as  if  it 
were  some  pleasant  respectable  woman  —  say  Si 
mon's  mother.  However,  old  ladies  do  not  sit  upon 
creek-banks. 

The  thought  of  sitting  upon  the  bank  of  a  stream 
suggested  to  Abbott  that  it  would  be  agreeable  to 
pursue  his  studies  in  the  open  air.  The  June  morn 
ing  had  not  yet  had  its  dewy  sweetness  burned  away 
by  a  droughty  old  sun.  Abbott  snatched  up  some 
books  and  went  below.  In  almost  every  front  yard 
there  were  roses.  Up  and  down  the  street,  they 
bloomed  in  all  colors,  with  delicate,  penetrating,  in 
toxicating  fragrance.  They  were  not  hidden  away  in 
miserly  back-gardens,  these  roses ;  they  smiled  for  the 
meanest  beggar,  for  the  most  self -sufficient  tramp, 
for  the  knowledge-burdened  scholar,  for  the  whis 
tling  driver  of  the  grocer's  wagon.  They  had  often 
smiled  in  vain  for  Abbott  Ashton,  but  that  was  be 
fore  he  had  made  the  bewildering  discovery  that 
they  were  like  Fran. 

On  the  green  veranda  he  paused  to  inhale  their! 
fragrance. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  left  your  room,"  said  Miss  Sap- 
phira,  all  innocence,  all  kindness.  "  You'll  study 
yourself  to  death.  It  won't  make  any  more  of  life 


222  FRAN 

to  take  it  hard  —  there's  just  so  much  for  every 
man." 

Abbott  smiled  abstractedly.  He  heard  nothing 
but  the  voices  of  the  roses. 

Huge  and  serious,  Miss  Sapphira  sat  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bay-window.  Against  the  wall  were 
arranged  sturdy  round-backed  wooden  chairs,  each 
of  which  could  have  received  the  landlady's  person 
without  a  quiver  of  a  spindle.  Everything  about 
Abbott  seemed  too  carefully  ordered  —  he  pined  for 
the  woods  —  some  mossy  bank  sloping  to  a  purling 
stream. 

Suddenly  Miss  Sapphira  grew  ponderously  sig 
nificant.  Her  massive  head  trembled  from  a  weight 
of  meaning  not  to  be  lifted  lightly  in  mere  words, 
her  double  chins  consolidated,  and  her  mouth  be 
came  as  the  granite  door  of  a  cave  sealed  against 
the  too-curious. 

Abbott  paused  uneasily  before  his  meditated 
flight  — "  Have  you  heard  any  news?  " 

She  answered  almost  tragically,  "  Board  meeting, 
to-night." 

Ordinarily,  teachers  for  the  next  year  were  se 
lected  before  the  close  of  the  spring  term ;  only  those 
"  on  the  inside  "  knew  that  the  fateful  board  meet- 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      223 

ing  had  been  delayed  week  after  week  because  of 
disagreement  over  the  superintendency.  There  was 
so  much  dissatisfaction  over  Abbott  Ashton  —  be 
cause  of  "  so  much  talk  " — that  even  Robert  Clin 
ton  had  thought  it  best  to  wait,  that  the  young  man 
might  virtually  be  put  upon  good  behavior. 

"  To-night,"  the  young  man  repeated  with  a  thrill. 
He  realized  how  important  this  meeting  would  prove 
in  shaping  his  future.  Miss  Sapphira  was  too  ap 
pallingly  significant  to  mean  otherwise.  If  anybody 
was  on  the  "  inside  "  it  was  the  chairman's  sister. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  warningly.  "  And  Bob  is  de 
termined  to  do  his  duty.  He  never  went  very  far 
in  his  own  education  because  he  didn't  expect  to 
be  a  school-teacher  —  but  ever  since  he's  been  chair 
man  of  the  school-board,  he's  aimed  to  have  the  best 
teachers,  so  the  children  can  be  taught  right;  most 
of  'em  are  poor  and  may  want  to  teach,  too,  when 
they're  grown.  I  think  all  the  board'll  be  for  you 
to-night,  Abbott,  and  I've  been  glad  to  notice  that 
for  the  last  month,  there's  been  less  talk.  And  by 
the  way,"  she  added,  "  that  Fran-girl  went  by  with 
Simon  Jefferson  just  now,  the  two  of  them  in 
Brother  Gregory's  buggy.  They're  going  to 
Blubb's  Riffle  —  he  with  his  weak  heart,  and  her 


224  FRAN 

with  that  sly  smile  of  hers,  and  it's  a  full  three 
mile!" 

Abbott  did  not  volunteer  that  he  had  seen  them 
pass,  but  his  face  showed  the  ostensible  integrity 
of  a  jam-thief,  who  for  once  finds  himself  innocent 
when  missing  jam  is  mentioned. 

She  was  not  convinced  by  his  look  of  guileless- 
ness.  "  You  seem  to  be  carrying  away  your 
books." 

"  I  want  to  breathe  in  this  June  morning  without 
taking  it  strained  through  window-screens,"  he  ex 
plained. 

Miss  Sapphira  gave  something  like  a  choked 
cough,  and  compressed  her  lips.  "  Abbott,"  she 
said,  looking  at  him  sidewise,  "  please  step  to  the 
telephone,  and  call  up  Bob  —  he's  at  the  store.  Tell 
him  to  leave  the  clerk  in  charge  and  hitch  up  and 
take  me  for  a  little  drive.  I  want  some  of  this  June 
morning  myself." 

Abbott  obeyed  with  alacrity.  On  his  return, 
Miss  Sapphira  said,  "  Bob's  going  to  fight  for  you 
at  the  board  meeting,  Abbott.  We'll  do  what  we 
can,  and  I  hope  you'll  help  yourself.  I  don't  wish 
any  harm  to  that  Fran-girl.  Bob  says  I'm  always 
expecting  the  worst  of  people  and  I  guess  I  am;  but 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      225 

I  must  say  I  don't  expect  half  as  bad  as  they  turn 
out." 

As  Abbott  went  down  the  fragrant  street  with  its 
cool  hose-refreshed  pavements,  its  languorous  shad 
ows  athwart  rose-bush  and  picket  fence,  its  hopeful 
weeds  already  peering  through  crevices  where  plank 
sidewalks  maintained  their  worm-eaten  right  of  way, 
he  was  in  no  dewy-morning  mood.  He  understood 
what  those  wise  nods  had  meant,  and  he  was  in  no 
frame  of  mind  for  such  wisdom.  He  meant  to  go 
far,  far  away  from  the  boarding-house,  from  the 
environment  of  schools  and  school-boards,  from 
Littleburg  with  its  atmosphere  of  ridiculous  gossip. 

Of  course  he  could  have  gone  just  as  far,  if  he 
had  not  chosen  the  direction  of  Blubb's  Riffle  — 
but  he  had  to  take  some  direction.  He  halted 
before  he  came  in  sight  of  the  stream;  if  Fran  had 
a  mind  to  fish  with  Simon  Jefferson,  he  would  not 
spoil  her  sport. 

He  found  a  comfortable  log  where  he  might 
study  under  the  gracious  sky.  Across  the  road, 
a  bill-board  flaunted  a  many-colored  advertisement, 
but  it  did  not  distract  his  attention  —  it  had  lost 
its  novelty  from  over-production.  There  was  to 
be  a  Street  Carnival  beginning  July  first.  There 


226  FRAN 

would  be  a  Fortune  Teller,  a  Lion  Show,  a  Snake 
Den,  etc.  The  Fourth  of  July  would  be  the  Big 
Day;  a  Day  of  Confetti,  of  Fireworks,  of  Riotous 
Mirth  and  patriotism  —  the  last  word  was  the  only 
one  on  the  bill  not  capitalized. 

Abbott  studied  hard.  He  did  not  learn  much 
—  there  seemed  a  bird  in  every  line. 

When  he  closed  his  books,  scarcely  knowing  why, 
and  decided  to  ramble,  it  was  with  no  intention  of 
seeking  Fran.  Miss  Sapphira  might  have  guessed 
what  would  happen,  but  in  perfect  innocence,  the 
young  man  strolled,  seeking  a  grassy  by-road,  sel 
dom  used,  redolent  of  bush,  tree,  vine,  dust-laden 
weed.  It  was  a  road  where  the  sun  seemed  almost 
a  stranger ;  a  road  gone  to  sleep  and  dreaming  of  the 
feet  of  stealthy  Indians,  of  noisy  settlers,  and  skil 
ful  trappers.  All  such  fretful  bits  of  life  had  the 
old  road  drained  into  oblivion,  and  now  it  seemed 
to  call  on  Abbott  to  share  their  fate,  the  fate  of 
the  forgotten. 

But  the  road  lost  its  mystic  meaning  when 
Abbott  discovered  Fran.  Suddenly  it  became 
only  a  road  —  nay,  it  became  nothing.  It  seemed 
that  the  sight  of  Fran  always  made  wreckage  of 
the  world  about  her. 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      227 

She  was  sitting  in  the  Gregory  buggy,  but,  most 
surprising  of  all,  there  was  no  horse  between  the 
shafts  —  no  horse  was  to  be  seen,  anywhere. 
Best  of  all,  no  Simon  Jefferson  was  visible.  Fran 
in  the  buggy  —  that  was  all.  Slow  traveling,  in 
deed,  even  for  this  sleepy  old  road ! 

"  Not  in  a  hurry,  are  you?  " 

"  I've  arrived,"  Fran  said,  in  unfriendly  tone. 

Smaller  than  ever,  she  appeared,  shrinking  back 
in  a  corner  of  the  seat,  as  if  the  vital  qualities  of 
her  being  were  compressed  to  bring  all  within  the 
scope  of  one  eyeflash.  Abbott  loved  the  laced 
shadows  of  the  trees  upon  the  bared  head,  he 
adored  the  green  lap-robe  protecting  her  feet.  The 
buggy-top  was  down  and  the  trees  from  either 
side  strove  each  to  be  first,  to  darken  Fran's  black 
hair  with  shadow  upon  shade. 

"  Are  you  tired  of  fishing,  Fran?  " 

"  Yes,  and  of  being  fished." 

She  had  closed  the  door  in  his  face,  but  he  said 
—  as  through  the  keyhole  — "  Does  that  mean  for 
me  to  go  away  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  pretty  good  friend,  Mr.  Ashton," 
she  said  with  a  curl  of  her  lip,  "  I  mean  —  when 
we  are  alone." 


228  FRAN 

"  '  While  we're  together,  and  after  we  part '," 
he  quoted.  "  Fran,  surely  you  don't  feel  toward 
me  the  way  you  are  looking." 

"  Exactly  as  I'm  looking  at  you,  that's  the  way 
I  feel.  Stand  there  as  long  as  you  please  — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  stand  a  moment  longer.  I 
want  to  sit  with  you  in  the  buggy.  Please  don't 
be  so  —  so  old!  " 

Fran  laughed  out  musically,  but  immediately  de 
clared  :  "  I  laughed  because  you  are  unexpected ; 
it  doesn't  mean  I  like  you  any  better.  I  hate  friend 
ship  that  shows  itself  only  in  private.  Mr.  Chame 
leon,  I  like  people  to  show  their  true  colors." 

"  I  am  not  Mr.  Chameleon,  and  I  want  to  sit  in 
your  buggy." 

"  Well,  then  get  in  the  very  farthest  corner. 
Now  look  me  in  the  eyes." 

"  And  oh,  Fran,  you  have  such  eyes !  They  are 
so  marvelously  —  er  —  unfriendly." 

"  I'm  glad  you  ended  up  that  way.  Now  look 
me  in  the  eyes.  Suppose  you  should  see  the  school- 
board  sailing  down  the  road,  Miss  Sapphira  thrown 
in.  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"What  should  I  do?" 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      229 

"  Hide,  I  suppose,"  said  Fran,  suddenly  rip 
pling. 

"  Then  you  look  me  in  the  eyes  and  listen  to 
me"  he  said  impressively.  "  Weigh  my  words  — 
have  you  scales  strong  enough  ?  " 

"  Put  'em  on  slow  and  careful." 

"  I  am  not  Mr.  Chameleon  for  I  show  my  true 
color.  And  I  am  a  real  friend,  no  matter  what  kind 
of  tree  I  am  — "  He  paused,  groping  for  a  word. 

"Up?"  she  suggested,  with  a  sudden  chuckle. 
"  All  right  —  let  the  school-board  come.  But  you 
don't  seem  surprised  to  see  me  here  in  the  buggy 
without  Mr.  Simon." 

"  When  Mr.  Simon  comes,  he'll  find  me  right 
here,"  Abbott  declared.  "  Fran,  please  don't  be 
always  showing  your  worst  side  to  the  town;  when 
you  laugh  at  people's  standards,  they  think  you 
queer  —  and  you  can't  imagine  just  how  much  you 
are  to  me." 

"Huh!"  Fran  sniffed.  "I'd  hate  to  be  any 
body's  friend  and  have  my  friendship  as  little  use 
as  yours  has  been  to  me." 

He  was  deeply  wounded.  "  I've  tried  to  give 
good  advice — " 


230  FRAN 

"  I  don't  need  advice,  I  want  help  in  carrying  out 
what  I  already  know."  Her  voice  vibrated. 
"  You're  afraid  of  losing  your  position  if  you 
have  anything  to  do  with  me.  Of  course  I'm  queer. 
Can  I  help  it,  when  I  have  no  real  home,  and  no 
body  cares  whether  I  go  or  stay?  " 

"  You  know  I  care,  Fran." 

Fran  caught  her  lip  between  her  teeth  as  if  to 
hold  herself  steady.  "  Oh,  let's  drive,"  she  said 
recklessly,  striking  at  the  dashboard  with  the  whip, 
and  shaking  her  hair  about  her  face  till  she  looked 
the  elfish  child  he  had  first  known. 

"  Fran,  you  know  I  care  —  you  know  it." 

"We'll  drive  into  Sure-Enough  Country,"  she 
said  with  a  half -smile  showing  on  the  side  of  her 
face  next  him.  "  Whoa !  Here  we  are.  All 
who  live  in  Sure-Enough  Country  are  sure-enough 
people  —  whatever  they  say  is  true.  Goodness !  " 
She  opened  her  eyes  very  wide — "It's  awful 
dangerous  to  talk  in  Sure-Enough  Country."  She 
put  up  the  whip,  and  folded  her  hands. 

"  I'm  glad  we're  here,  Fran,  for  you  have  your 
friendly  look." 

'  That's   because   I    really    do   like   you.     Let's 
talk  about  yourself  —  how  you  expect  to  be  what 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      231 

you'll  be  —  you're  nothing  yet,  you  know,  Ab 
bott;  but  how  did  you  come  to  determine  to  be 
something?  " 

Into  Abbott's  smile  stole  something  tender  and 
sacred.  "  It  was  all  my  mother,"  he  explained  sim 
ply.  "  She  died  before  I  received  my  state  certifi 
cate,  but  she  thought  I'd  be  a  great  man  —  so  I  am 
trying  for  it." 

"  And  she'll  never  know,"  Fran  lamented. 

She  slipped  her  hand  into  his.  "  Didn't  /  have 
a  mother?  Oh,  these  mothers!  And  who  can 
make  mother-wishes  come  true  ?  Well !  And  you 
just  studied  with  all  your  might;  and  you'll  keep 
on  and  on,  till  you're  .  .  .  out  of  my  reach, 
of  course.  Which  would  have  suited  your  mother, 
too."  She  withdrew  her  hand. 

"  My  mother  would  have  loved  you,"  he  de 
clared,  for  he  did  not  understand,  so  well  as  Fran, 
about  mothers'  liking  for  strange  young  ladies  who 
train  lions. 

"  Mine  would  you,"  Fran  asserted,  with  more 
reason. 

Abbott,  conscious  of  a  dreadful  emptiness,  took 
Fran's  hand  again.  "  I'll  never  be  out  of  your 
reach,  Fran." 


232  FRAN 

She  did  not  seek  to  draw  away,  but  said,  with 
dark  meaning,  "  Remember  the  bridge  at  mid 
night." 

"  I  remember  how  you  looked,  with  the  moon 
light  silvering  your  face  —  you  were  just  beautiful 
that  night,  little  Nonpareil !  " 

"  But  not  quite  so  in  daylight,"  murmured  Fran 
wickedly,  "  as  this  morning?  " 

"  Anyway,"  he  answered  desperately,  "  you  look 
as  I'd  have  you  look  —  can  you  ask  more  than  that, 
since  I  can't?  " 

"  My  chin  is  so  sharp,"  she  murmured. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  softly  feeling  the  warm  little 
fingers,  one  by  one,  as  if  to  make  sure  all  were 
there.  "  That's  the  way  I  like  it  —  sharp." 

"  And  I'm  so  ridiculously  thin  - 

"  You're  nothing  like  so  thin  as  \vhen  you  first 
came  to  Littleburg,"  he  declared.  "  I've  noticed 
how  you  are  —  have  been  —  I  mean  .  .  ." 

"  Filling  out  ?  "  cried  Fran  gleefully.  "  Oh,  yes, 
and  I'm  so  glad  you  know,  because  since  I've  been 
wearing  long  dresses,  I've  been  afraid  you'd  never 
find  it  out,  and  would  always  be  thinking  of  me  as 
you  saw  me  at  the  beginning.  But  I  am  —  yes  — 
filling  out." 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      233 

"And  your  little  feet,  Fran—" 

"  Yes,  I  always  had  a  small  foot.  But  let's 
get  off  of  this  subject." 

"  Not  until  I  say  something  about  your  smile 
—  oh,  Fran,  that  smile !  " 

"  The  subject,  now,"  remarked  Fran,  "  naturally 
returns  to  Grace  Noir." 

"Please,  Fran!" 

"  Yes  —  and  I  am  going  to  say  something  to 
offend  you;  but  honestly,  Abbott,  it's  for  your 
good.  If  you'll  keep  holding  my  hand,  I'll  know 
you  can  stand  unpleasant  truths.  When  you  hold 
my  hand,  it  seems  to  make  everything  so  —  so 
close." 

"  Everything  is !  "  Abbott  declared. 

"  I'll  tell  you  why  you  hurt  my  feelings,  Abbott. 
You've  disappointed  me  twice.  Oh,  if  I  were  a  man, 
I'd  show  any  meek-faced  little  hypocrite  if  she 
could  prize  secrets  out  of  me.  Just  because  it 
wears  dresses  and  long  hair,  you  think  it  an  angel." 

"  Meaning  Miss  Grace,  I  presume  ?  "  remarked 
Abbott  dryly.  "  But  what  is  the  secret,  this  time?  " 

"  Didn't  I  trust  you  with  the  secret  that  I  meant 
to  apply  for  the  position  of  secretary  as  soon  as 
Grace  Noir  was  out  of  the  way?  And  I  was  just 


234  FRAN 

about  to  win  the  fight  when  here  she  came  — 
hadn't  been  to  the  city  at  all,  because  you  told 
her  what  I  meant  to  do  —  handed  her  the  secret, 
like  a  child  giving  up  something  it  doesn't  want." 

"  You  are  very  unjust.  I  did  not  tell  her  your 
plan.  I  don't  know  how  she  found  it  out." 

"  From  you ;  nobody  else  knew  it." 

"  She  did  not  learn  it  from  me." 

" —  And  that's  what  gets  me !  —  you  tell  her 
everything,  and  don't  even  know  that  you  tell.  Just 
hypnotized !  Answer  my  questions :  the  morning 
after  I  told  you  what  I  meant  to  do  —  standing 
there  at  the  fence  by  the  gate  —  confiding  in  you, 
telling  you  everything  —  I  say,  the  next  morning, 
didn't  you  tell  Grace  Noir  all  about  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  You  had  a  conversation  with  her,  didn't  you?  " 

Abbott  tried  to  remember,  then  said  casually,  "  I 
believe  we  did  meet  on  the  street  that  morning." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fran  ironically,  "  I  believe  you  did 
meet  somewhere.  Of  course  she  engaged  you  in 
her  peculiar  style  of  inquisitorial  conversation?  " 

"  We  went  down  the  street  together." 

"  Now,  prisoner  at  the  bar,  relate  all  that  was 
said  while  going  down  the  street  together." 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      235 

"  Most  charming,  but  unjust  judge,  not  a  word 
that  I  can  remember,  so  it  couldn't  have  been  of 
any  interest  I  did  tell  her  that  since  she  —  yes, 
I  remember  now  —  since  she  was  to  be  out  of  town 
all  day,  I  would  wait  until  to-morrow  to  bring  her 
a  book  she  wanted  to  borrow." 

"  Oh !  And  then  she  wanted  to  know  who  told 
you  she  would  be  out  of  town  all  day,  didn't  she?  " 

Abbott  reflected  deeply,  then  said  with  triumph, 
"  Yes,  she  did.  I  remember  that,  too.  She  asked 
me  how  I  knew  she  was  going  to  the  city  with 
Bob  Clinton.  And  I  avoided  telling  her  —  it  was 
rather  neat.  I  merely  said  that  it  was  the  under 
standing  they  were  to  select  the  church  music. 
Not  another  word  was  said  on  the  subject." 

"  That  was  enough.  Mighty  neat.  As  soon 
as  she  saw  you  were  trying  to  avoid  a  direct  an 
swer,  she  knew  I'd  told  you.  That  gave  her  a  clue 
to  my  leaving  the  choir  practice  before  the  rest  of 
them.  She  guessed  something  important  was  up. 
She  might  not  have  guessed  all  the  details,  but  she 
didn't  dare  leave  me  an  open  field.  Well,  Abbott, 
you  are  certainly  an  infant  in  her  hands,  but  I 
guess  you  can't  help  it." 

Self-pride    was     touched,    and    he    retaliated: 


236  FRAN 

"  Fran,  I  hate  to  think  of  your  being  willing  to  take 
her  position  behind  her  back." 

She  crimsoned. 

"  You'd  know  how  I  feel  about  it,"  he  went  on, 
"  if  you  understood  her  better.  I  know  her  duty 
drives  her  to  act  in  opposition  to  you,  and  I'm  sorry 
for  it.  But  her  religious  ideals  — " 

"Abbott,  be  honest  and  answer — is  there  any 
thing  in  it  —  this  talk  of  doing  God's  will?  Can 
people  love  God  and  hate  one  another?  Oh, 
isn't  it  all  just  words? ''  Her  eyes  burned  fiercely. 
"  I  wouldn't  have  the  love  that  some  folks  give 
God,  I'd  feel  myself  insulted!  I  want  something 
better  than  He  gets.  I  want  a  love  that  holds  out. 
I  just  hate  shams,"  she  went  on,  becoming  more 
excited.  "  I  don't  care  what  fine  names  you  give 
them  —  whether  it's  marriage,  or  education,  or 
culture,  or  religion,  if  there's  no  heart  in  it,  it's 
a  sham,  and  I  hate  it.  I  hate  a  lie.  But  a  thousand 
times  more,  do  I  hate  a  life  that  is  a  lie." 

"  Fran!     You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying." 

''  Yes  I  do  know  what  I'm  saying.  Is  religion 
going  to  church?  That's  all  I  can  see  in  it.  I 
want  to  believe  there's  something  else,  I've  honestly 
searched,  for  I  wanted  to  be  comforted,  I  tell  you, 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      237 

I  need  it.  But  I  can't  find  any  comfort  in  mortar 
and  stained-windows.  If  lightning  ever  strikes  a 
church-member  between  services,  is  his  face 
toward  God?  No,  people  just  name  something 
religion, —  and  then  it's  wrong  to  find  fault  with 
it.  I  want  something  that  makes  a  man  true  to 
his  wife,  and  makes  a  family  live  together  in 
blessed  harmony,  something  that's  good  on  the 
streets  and  in  the  stores,  something  that  makes  peo 
ple  even  treat  a  show-girl  well.  If  there's  anything 
in  it,  why  doesn't  a  father  — " 

She  snatchedi  away  her  hand  that  she  might 
cover  her  face,  for  she  had  burst  into  passionate 
weeping.  "  Why  doesn't  a  father  who's  always 
talking  about  religion,  and  singing  about  it,  and 
praying  about  it  —  why  doesn't  that  father  draw 
his  daughter  to  his  breast  .  .  .  close,  close  to 
his  heart  —  that's  the  only  home  she  asks  for  — 
that's  the  home  she  has  a  right  to,  yes  a  right,  I 
don't  care  how  far  she's  wandered  — " 

"  Fran !  "  cried  Abbott,  in  great  distress.  "  Don't 
cry,  little  one ! "  He  had  no  intelligent  word,  but 
his  arm  was  full  of  meaning  as  it  slipped  about 
her.  "  Who  has  been  unkind  to  you,  Nonpareil  ?  " 
She  let  her  head  sink  upon  his  shoulder,  as  she 


238  FRAN 

sobbed  without  restraint.  "  What  shams  have 
pierced  your  pure  heart?  Am  I  the  cause  of  any 
of  these  tears  ?  Am  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Fran  answered,  between  her  sobs, 
"  you're  the  cause  of  all  my  happy  tears."  She 
nestled  there  with  a  movement  of  perfect  trust; 
he  drew  her  closer,  and  stroked  her  hair  tenderly, 
trusting  himself. 

Presently  she  pulled  herself  to  rights,  lifted  his 
arm  from  about  her,  and  rested  it  on  the  back  of 
the  seat  —  a  friendly  compromise.  Then  she 
shook  back  her  hair  and  raised  her  eyes  and  a  faint 
smile  came  into  the  rosy  face.  "  I'm  so  funny," 
she  declared.  "  Sometimes  I  seem  so  strange 
that  I  need  an  introduction  to  myself."  She 
looked  into  Abbott's  eyes  fieetingly,  and  drew  in 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "  I  guess,  after  all, 
there's  something  in  religion !  " 

Abbott  was  so  warmed  by  returning  sunshine 
that  his  eyes  shone.  "  Dear  Fran !  "  he  said  —  it 
was  very  hard  to  keep  his  arm  where  she  had  put 
it.  She  tried  to  look  at  him  steadily,  but  somehow 
the  light  hurt  her  eyes.  She  could  feel  its  warmth 
burning  her  cheeks. 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      239 

"  Oh,  Fran,"  cried  Abbott  impulsively,  "  the 
bridge  in  the  moonlight  was  nothing  to  the  way 
you  look  now  —  so  beautiful  —  and  so  much 
more  than  just  beautiful  .  .  ." 

"  This  won't  do,"  Fran  exclaimed,  hiding  her 
face.  "  We  must  get  back  to  Grace  Noir  immedi 
ately." 

"  Oh,  Fran,  oh,  no,  please!  " 

"  I  won't  please.  While  we're  in  Sure-Enough 
Country,  I  mean  to  tell  you  the  whole  truth  about 
Grace  Noir."  The  name  seemed  to  settle  the  at 
mosphere  —  she  could  look  at  him,  now. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand  that  something  is 
going  to  happen  —  must  happen,  just  from  the 
nature  of  things,  and  the  nature  of  wives  and  hus 
bands  —  and  the  other  woman.  Oh,  you  needn't 
frown  at  me,  I've  seen  you  look  that  other  way 
at  me,  so  I  know  you,  Abbott  Ashton." 

"  Fran !     Then  you  know  that  I  — " 

"  No,  you  must  listen.  You've  nothing  im 
portant  to  tell  me  that  I  don't  know.  I've  found 
out  the  whole  Gregory  history  from  old  Mrs.  Jef 
ferson,  without  her  knowing  that  she  was  telling 
anything  —  she's  a  sort  of  'Professor  Ashton'  in 


240  FRAN 

my  hands  —  and  I  mean  to  tell  you  that  history. 
You  know  that,  for  about  three  years,  Mrs. 
Gregory  hasn't  gone  to  church  — " 

"  You  must  admit  that  it  doesn't  appear  well." 

"Admit  it?  Yes,  of  course  I  must.  And  the 
world  cares  for  appearances,  and  not  for  the  truth. 
That's  why  it  condemns  Mrs.  Gregory  —  and  me 
—  and  that's  why  I'm  afraid  the  school-board  will 
condemn  you:  just  on  account  of  appearances. 
For  these  past  three  years,  the  church  has  meant 
to  Mrs.  Gregory  a  building  plus  Grace  Noir. 
You'll  remember  I'm  rather  mathematical  —  wasn't 
that  a  day,  though,  when  you  kept  me  in!  I  think 
it  was  the  first  time  you  learned  the  color  of  my 
eyes,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Your  eyes,"  he  said,  "  are  the  color  of  friend 
ship." 

"  Abbott,  you  say  the  dearest  things  —  but  let's 
get  back  to  our  equation.  I  don't  mean  that  Mrs. 
Gregory  got  jealous  of  Grace  Noir  —  I  don't  know 
how  to  explain  —  you  can't  handle  cobwebs  with 
out  marring  them."  She  paused.  The  gossamer 
shades  of  sensibility  which  she  would  have  defined, 
threatened  to  become  coarsened  by  the  mere  spe 
cific  gravity  of  words  —  such  words  as  have  been 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      241 

knocked  about  the  world  so  long  that  a  sort  of 
material  odor  clings  to  them. 

"Jealous  of  —  Miss  Grace!"  exclaimed  Ab 
bott  reprovingly. 

"  Let's  go  back,  and  take  a  running  jump  right 
into  the  thick  of  it.  When  Mr.  Gregory  came  to 
Littleburg,  a  complete  stranger  —  and  when  he 
married,  she  was  a  devoted  church-member  — 
always  went,  and  took  great  interest  in  all  his 
schemes  to  help  folks  —  folks  at  a  distance,  you 
understand  .  .  .  She  just  devoured  that  re 
ligious  magazine  he  edits  —  yes,  I'll  admit,  his  re 
ligion  shows  up  beautifully  in  print;  the  pictures  of 
it  are  good,  too.  Old  Mrs.  Jefferson  took  pride  in 
being  wheeled  to  church  where  she  could  see  her 
son-in-law  leading  the  music,  and  where  she'd 
watch  every  gesture  of  the  minister  and  catch  the 
sound  of  his  voice  at  the  high  places,  where  he 
cried  and,  or  nevertheless.  Sometimes  Mrs.  Jeffer 
son  could  get  a  dozen  ands  and  buts  out  of  one  dis 
course.  Then  comes  your  Grace  Noir." 

Abbott  listened  with  absorbed  attention.  It  was 
impossible  not  to  be  influenced  by  the  voice  that 
had  grown  to  mean  so  much  to  him. 

"  Grace   Noir   is   a  person  that's   superhumanly 


242  FRAN 

good,  but  she's  not  happy  in  her  own  goodness;  it 
hurts  her,  all  the  time,  because  other  folks  are 
not  so  good  as  she.  You  can't  live  in  the  house 
with  her  without  wishing  she'd  make  a  mistake  to 
show  herself  human,  but  she  never  does,  she's  al 
ways  right.  When  it's  time  to  go  to  church,  that 
woman  goes,  I  don't  care  if  there's  a  blizzard. 
She's  so  fixed  on  being  a  martyr,  that  if  nobody 
crosses  her,  she  just  makes  herself  a  martyr  out 
of  the  shortcomings  of  others." 

"As  for  instance  —  ?" 

"  As  for  instance,  she  suffered  martyrdom 
every  time  Mrs.  Gregory  nestled  in  an  arm-chair 
beside  the  cozy  hearth,  when  a  Ladies'  Aid,  or  a 
Rally  was  beating  its  way  through  snow-drifts  to 
the  Walnut  Street  church.  Mr.  Gregory  was  like 
everybody  else  about  Grace  —  he  took  her  at  her 
own  value,  and  that  gave  the  equation:  to  him, 
religion  meant  Walnut  Street  church  plus  Grace 
Noir.  For  a  while,  Mrs.  Gregory  clung  to  church- 
going  with  grim  determination,  but  it  wasn't  any 
use.  The  Sunday-school  would  have  button  con 
tests,  or  the  Ladies'  Aid  would  give  chicken  pie 
dinners  down-town,  and  Mrs.  Gregory  would  be 
a  red  button  or  a  blue  button,  and  she  would  have 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      243 

her  pie;  but  she  was  always  third  —  in  her  home, 
or  at  church,  she  was  the  third.  It  was  her  hus 
band  and  his  secretary  that  understood  the  Lord. 
Somehow  she  seemed  to  disturb  conditions,  merely 
by  being  present." 

"  Fran,  you  do  not  realize  that  your  words  -»— 
they  intimate  — " 

"  She  disturbed  conditions,  Abbott.  She  was 
like  a  turned-up  light  at  a  seance.  A  successful 
manifestation  calls  for  semi-gloom,  and  when  those 
two  were  alone,  they  could  get  the  current.  Mr. 
Gregory  was  appalled  because  his  wife  quit  at 
tending  church.  Grace  sympathized  in  his  sorrow. 
It  made  him  feel  toward  Grace  Noir —  but  I'm 
up  against  a  stone  wall,  Abbott,  I  haven't  the  word 
to  describe  his  feeling,  maybe  there  isn't  any.  Sad, 
you  know,  so  sad,  but  awful  sweet  —  the  per 
fume  of  locust  blossoms,  or  lilacs  in  the  dew,  be 
cause  Grace  has  a  straight  nose  and  big  splendid 
eyes,  and  such  a  form  —  she's  the  opposite  of  me 
in  everything,  except  that  she  isn't  a  man  —  more's 
the  pity !  " 

"  Fran  Nonpareil !  Such  wisdom  terrifies  me 
.  .  .  such  suspicions!  "  In  this  moment  of  hes 
itancy  between  conviction  and  rejection,  Abbott 


244  FRAN 

felt  oddly  out  of  harmony  with  his  little  friend. 
She  realized  the  effect  she  must  necessarily  be  pro 
ducing,  yet  she  must  continue;  she  had  counted  the 
cost  and  the  danger.  If  she  did  not  convince  him, 
his  thought  of  her  could  never  be  the  same. 

"  Abbott,  you  may  think  I  am  talking  from  jeal 
ousy,  and  that  I  tried  to  get  rid  of  Grace  Noir  so 
I  could  better  my  condition  at  her  expense.  I  don't 
know  how  to  make  you  see  that  my  story  is  true. 
It  tells  itself.  Oughtn't  that  to  prove  it  ?  Mrs.  Gre 
gory  has  the  dove's  nature ;  she'd  let  the  enemy  have 
the  spoils  rather  than  come  to  blows.  She  lets 
him  take  his  choice  —  here  is  she,  yonder's  the 
secretary.  He  isn't  worthy  of  her  if  he  chooses 
Grace  —  but  his  hesitation  has  proved  him  un 
worthy,  anyhow.  He'll  never  be  to  Mrs.  Gregory 
what  he  was  —  but  if  she  spoke  out,  there'd  be 
the  publicity  —  the  lawyers,  the  newspapers,  the 
staring  in  the  streets  .  .  .  The  old  lady  — 
her  mother  —  is  a  fighter ;  she'd  have  driven  out 
the  secretary  long  ago.  But  Mrs.  Gregory's  idea 
seems  to  be  — '  If  he  can  want  her,  after  I've  given 
him  myself,  I'll  not  make  a  movement  to  inter 
fere.'  " 

Abbott  played  delicately  with  the  mere  husk  of 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      245 

this  astounding  revelation :  "  Have  you  talked 
with  old  Mrs.  Jefferson  about  —  about  it  ?  " 

"  She's  too  proud  —  wouldn't  admit  it.  But 
I've  slyly  hinted  .  .  .  however,  it's  not  the 
sort  of  story  you  could  pour  through  the  funnel 
of  an  ear-trumpet  without  getting  wheat  mixed 
with  chaff.  She'd  misunderstand  —  the  neigh 
bors  would  get  it  first  —  anyway  she  wouldn't 
make  a  move  because  her  daughter  won't.  It's  you 
and  I,  Abbott,  against  Grace  and  Mr.  Gregory." 

He  murmured,  looking  away,  "  You  take  me  for 
granted,  Fran." 

"  Yes."  Fran's  reply  was  almost  a  whisper. 
A  sudden  terror  of  what  he  might  think  of  her, 
smote  her  heart.  But  she  repeated  bravely,  "  Yes !  " 

He  turned,  and  she  saw  in  his  eyes  a  confiding 
trust  that  seemed  to  hedge  her  soul  about.  "  And 
you  can  always  take  me  for  granted,  Fran;  and 
always  is  a  long  time." 

"  Not  too  long  for  you  and  me,"  said  Fran, 
looking  at  him  breathlessly. 

"  I  may  have  felt,"  he  said,  "  for  some  time,  in 
a  vague  way,  what  you  have  told  me.  Of  course 
it  is  evident  that  he  prefers  Miss  Noir's  society. 
But  I  have  always  thought  —  or  hoped  —  or 


246  FRAN 

wanted  to  feel,  that  it  was  only  the  common  tie  of 
religion  — " 

"  It  was  not  the  truth  that  you  clung  to,  Abbott, 
but  appearances.  As  for  me,  let  truth  kill  rather 
than  live  as  a  sham.  If  Grace  Noir  stays,  the  worst 
is  going  to  happen.  She  may  not  know  how  far 
she's  going.  He  may  not  suspect  he's  doing  wrong. 
People  can  make  anything  they  want  seem  right  in 
their  own  eyes.  But  I've  found  out  that  wickedness 
isn't  stationary,  it's  got  a  sort  of  perpetual  motion. 
If  we  don't  drive  Grace  away,  the  crash  will  come." 

"  Fran  —  how  you  must  love  Mrs.  Gregory !  " 

"  She  breaks  my  heart." 

"Dear  faithful  Fran!  What  can  we  do?  — 
I  say  We,  Fran,  observe." 

"  Oh,  you  Abbott  Ashton  .  .  .  just  what 
I  thought  you!  No,  no,  you  mustn't  interrupt. 
I'll  manage  Grace  Noir,  if  you'll  manage  Bob 
Clinton." 

"  Where  does  Bob  Clinton  come  in?  " 

"  Grace  is  trying  to  open  a  door  so  he  can  come 
in.  I  mean  a  secret  in  Mr.  Gregory's  past.  She 
suspects  that  there's  a  secret  in  his  past,  and  she 
intends  to  send  Bob  to  Springfield  where  Mr. 
Gregory  left  that  secret.  Bob  will  bring  it  to 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      247 

Littleburg.  He'll  hand  it  over  to  Grace,  and  then 
she'll  have  Mr.  Gregory  in  her  power  —  there'll 
be  no  getting  her  hands  off  him,  after  that." 

"  Surely  you  don't  mean  that  Mr.  Gregory  did 
wrong  when  he  was  young,  and  that  Miss  Noir 
suspects  it  ? " 

"  Bob  will  bring  home  the  secret  —  and  it  will 
kill  Mrs.  Gregory,  Abbott  —  and  Grace  will  go  off 
with  him  —  I  know  how  it'll  end." 

"What  is  this  secret?" 

"  You  are  never  to  know,  Abbott." 

"  Very  well  —  so  be  it.  But  I  don't  believe 
Mr.  Gregory  ever  did  very  wrong  —  he  is  too  good 
a  man." 

"Isn't  he  daily  breaking  his  wife's  heart?"  re 
torted  Fran  with  a  curl  of  the  lip.  "  I  call  that 
murder." 

"  But  still!  —  But  I  can't  think  he  realizes  it." 

"  Then,"  said  Fran  satirically,  "  we'll  just  call 
it  manslaughter.  When  I  think  of  his  wife's 
meek  patient  face  —  don't  you  recall  that  look  in 
her  eyes  of  the  wounded  deer  —  and  the  thousands 
of  times  you've  seen  those  two  together,  at  church, 
on  the  street,  in  the  library  —  everywhere  . 
seeing  only  each  other,  leaning  closer,  smiling 


248  FRAN 

deeper  —  as  if  doing  good  meant  getting  close  — 
Oh,  Abbott,  you  know  what  I  mean  —  don't  you, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes !  "  cried  Abbott  sharply.  "  Fran,  you  are 
right.  I  have  been  —  all  of  us  have  been  —  cling 
ing  to  appearances.  Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean." 

"  You'll  keep  Bob  Clinton  from  telling  that 
secret,  won't  you?  He's  to  go  to-night,  on  the 
long  journey  —  to-night,  after  the  board  meeting. 
It'll  take  him  three  or  four  days.  Then  he'll 
come  back  .  .  ." 

"But  he'll  never  tell  the  secret,"  Abbott  de 
clared.  His  mouth  closed  as  by  a  spring. 

Fran  snatched  up  the  whip,  and  leaned  over  as 
if  to  lash  the  empty  shafts.  She  had  suddenly  be 
come  the  child  again.  "  We  must  drive  out  of 
Sure-Enough  Country,  now.  Time  to  get  back  to 
the  Make-Believe  World.  You  know  it  isn't  best 
to  stay  long  in  high  altitudes.  I've  been  pretty  high 

—  I   feel  like  I've  been  breathing  pretty  close  to 

—  heaven."     She  stood  up,  and  the  lap-robe   fell 
about  her  like  green  waves  from  which  springs  a 
laughing  nymph. 

Abbott  still  felt  stunned.  The  crash  of  an  ideal 
arouses  the  echo  — "  Is  there  no  truth  in  the 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      249 

world  ? "  But  yes  —  Fran  was  here,  Fran  the 
adorable. 

"  Fran,"  he  pleaded,  "  don't  drive  out  of  Sure- 
Enough  Country.  Wait  long  enough  for  me  to  tell 
you  what  you  are  to  me." 

"  I  know  what  I  am  to  you,"  Fran  retorted  — 
—"Gitap!" 

"But  what  am  I  to  you?  Don't  drive  so  fast 
—  the  trees  are  racing  past  like  mad.  I  won't 
leave  Sure-Enough  Country  until  I've  told  you 
all  — " 

'"You  shall!  No,  I'll  not  let  you  take  this 
whip  — " 

"  I  will  take  it  —  let  go  —  Fran !  Blessed  dar 
ling  Fran  — 

She  gripped  the  whip  tightly.  He  could  not 
loosen  her  hold,  but  he  could  keep  her  hand  in  his, 
which  was  just  as  well.  Still,  a  semblance  of 
struggling  was  called  for,  and  that  is  why  the 
sound  of  approaching  wheels  was  drowned  in 
laughter. 

"  Here  we  are !  "  Fran  cried  wickedly  — "  Make- 
Belie  ve  World  of  E  very-Day,  and  some  of  its  in 
habitants  .  .  ." 

A  sjirrey  had  come  d^wn  the  geldorrhused  road 


250  FRAN 

—  had  Miss  Sapphira  followed  Abbott  in  order  to 
discover  him  with  Fran?  The  suspicion  was  not 
just,  but  his  conscience  seemed  to  turn  color  — 
or  was  it  his  face?  In  fact,  Fran  and  Abbott  were 
both  rather  red  —  caused,  possibly,  by  their 
struggle  over  the  whip. 

On  the  front  seat  of  the  surrey  were  Miss  Sap 
phira  and  Bob  Clinton.  On  the  back  seat  wras 
Simon  Jefferson  whose  hairy  hand  gripped  a 
halter  fastened  to  a  riderless  horse :  the  very  horse 
which  should  have  been  between  the  shafts  of  the 
Gregory  buggy. 

Miss  Sapphira  stared  at  Abbott,  speechless.  So 
this  is  what  he  had  meant  by  wanting  the  air  un 
strained  by  window-screens.  Studying,  indeed ! 
Abbott,  in  his  turn,  stared  speechlessly  at  the  led 
horse. 

Bob  Clinton  drew  rein,  and  grasped  his  hay- 
colored  mustache,  inadequate  to  the  situation.  He 
glanced  reproachfully  at  Abbott;  the  young  fel 
low  must  know  that  his  fate  was  to  be  decided  this 
very  night. 

Abbott  could  not  take  his  fill  of  the  sight  of 
Simon  Jefferson  whom  he  had  fancied  not  far 
away,  eyes  glued  on  cork,  hands  in  pockets  to  cs- 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY      251 

cape  mosquitoes,  sun  on  back,  serenely  fishing. 
He  had  supposed  the  horse  grazing  near  by,  enjoy 
ing  semi-freedom  with  his  grass.  Now  it  seemed 
far  otherwise.  Miss  Sapphira  had  even  had  him 
telephone  to  Bob  to  bring  her  hither.  With  his 
own  hands  he  had  dug  his  pitfall. 

Fran,  suddenly  aware  of  her  ridiculous  attitude, 
sat  down  and  began  to  laugh. 

Bob  Clinton  inquired,  "Taking  a  drive,  Abb?" 

Miss  Sapphira  set  her  heavy  foot  upon  her 
brother's  unseemly  jocularity.  "  Unfortunately," 
said  Miss  Sapphira,  speaking  with  cold  civility, 
"  Mr.  Jefferson  had  to  come  clear  to  town  before 
he  could  recapture  the  horse.  We  were  giving  him 
a  lift,  and  had  no  idea  —  no  idea  that  we  should 
find  —  should  come  upon  —  We  are  sorry  to  in 
trude."  Had  her  life  depended  on  it,  Miss  Sap 
phira  could  not  have  withheld  a  final  touch  — 
"  Possibly  you  were  not  looking  for  Mr.  Jefferson 
to  come  back  so  soon." 

"  Why,"  answered  Abbott,  stepping  to  the 
ground,  "  hardly  so  soon."  At  any  rate,  he  felt 
that  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  staying  in  the 
buggy.  "  Is  that  the  horse  that  belongs  to  this 
buggy  ?  Let  me  hitch  it  up,  Mr.  Simon." 


252  FRAN 

"This  has  been  a  tei'rible  experience  for  me," 
growled  Simon.  All  the  same,  he  let  Abbott  do 
the  work,  but  not  as  if  he  meant  to  repay  him  with 
gratitude. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  your  horse,  any 
way?"  Abbott  cheerfully  inquired. 

Simon  looked  at  him  sourly.  "  Didn't  Fran  tell 
you  that  the  horse  got  scared  at  her  throwing  rocks 
at  my  cork,  and  broke  from  the  tree  where  I'd  fas 
tened  it,  and  bolted  for  town?" 

"  Mr.  Simon,"  said  Fran  innocently,  "  I  don't 
believe  the  horse  was  mentioned  once,  while  you 
were  gone." 

"  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  was,"  re 
marked  Robert  with  humor  so  dry  that  apparently 
it  choked  him;  he  fell  to  coughing  huskily. 

Miss  Sapphira  gave  him  a  look  while  he  was 
struggling  in  his  second  paroxysm.  It  healed  him 
by  suggestion. 

"  Turn,"  said  Miss  Sapphira  with  becoming 
gravity.  Robert,  still  under  the  influence  of  her 
thought-wave,  solemnly  drove  her  from  the 
scene. 

When  the  last  buckle  was  clasped  — "  I  came  out 
here  for  a  quiet  peaceable  fishing,"  said  Simon. 


IN  SURE-ENOUGH  COUNTRY       253 

"  I've  spent  my  time  hunting  horses,  and  being 
afraid  something  might  happen  to  Fran." 

"  Mr.  Ashton  took  care  of  me,"  Fran  said  re 
assuringly. 

Simon  cried  explosively,  "  And  who  took  care 
of  him?3'  He  climbed  in  beside  Fran  and  be- 
grudgingly  offered  Abbott  the  imaginary  space  of  a 
third  occupant;  but  Abbott  declared  his  preference 
for  strolling. 

"  This  has  been  a  hard  day  for  my  heart,"  Simon 
grumbled,  as  he  snatched  up  the  whip  vindictively. 

The  buggy  rolled  away. 

"  Mine,  too,"  Abbott  called  after  them  emphat 
ically. 

Fran  looked  back  at  him,  from  over  the  lowered 
top.  He  saw  her  hand  go  to  her  bosom,  then 
something  fluttered  in  the  air  and  fell  in  the  grassy 
road.  He  darted  after  it  as  if  it  were  a  clue,  show 
ing  the  way  to  the  princess'  castle. 

Perhaps  it  was.  He  pounced  upon  it  —  it  was 
the  Queen  of  Hearts. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A    TAMER    OF    LIONS 

'TMIE  life  of  a  household  progresses,  usually 
by  insensible  gradations,  toward  some  great 
event,  some  climax,  for  the  building  of  -which 
each  day  has  furnished  its  grain  of  sand.  To-day, 
Hamilton  Gregory  and  Grace  Noir  were  in  the 
library,  with  nothing  to  indicate  the  approach  of 
the  great  moment  in  their  lives.  It  was  Grace's 
impatience  to  drive  Fran  away  even  before  Robert 
Clinton  should  bring  the  secret  from  Springfield, 
that  precipitated  matters. 

Grace  might  have  been  prompted  in  part  by  per 
sonal  antipathy,  but  she  believed  herself  acting 
from  a  pure  sense  of  duty.  Those  who  absented 
themselves  from  the  house  of  worship  were  goats; 
those  who  came  were  sheep.  In  vain  might  you 
delude  yourself  that  you  were  a  camel,  horse,  or 
bird  of  plumage;  to  Grace's  thinking,  there  were 
no  such  animals  in  the  religious  world  —  her  clear 
eye  made  nothing  of  hump,  flowing  mane,  or 

254 


A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  255 

gaudy  feathers;  that  eye  looked  dispassionately  for 
the  wool  upon  your  back  —  or  the  beard  under 
your  chin. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Gregory  ? "  She 
rose  from  the  typewriter,  slightly  pale  from  sud 
den  resolution.  He  noted  the  pallor,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  in  that  spiritual  face  his  faith  became 
visible.  One  hand  rested  upon  the  keys  of  the 
typewriter  as  if  to  show  how  little  she  needed  sub 
stantial  support. 

Gregory  never  missed  a  movement  of  his  secre 
tary,  but  now  he  lifted  his  head  ostensibly,  to  make 
his  observation  official. 

"  It's  about  Mr.  Clinton,"  said  Grace  in  a  low 
voice,  feeling  her  way  to  "  that  Fran  ". 

He  laid  down  his  pen  with  a  frown.  Suddenly 
his  missions  in  New  York  and  Chicago  became  dead 
weights.  Why  Grace's  "  Mr.  Clinton "  instead 
of  her  customary  "Brother  Clinton"?  It  seemed 
to  equip  the  school-director  with  formidable  powers. 
Gregory  hastened  to  put  him  where  he  belonged. 

"  Oh !  Something  about  Bob  ?  "  he  asked  casu 
ally. 

Her  look  was  steady,  her  voice  humble:  "Yes." 

Her  humility  touched  him  profoundly.     Know- 


256  FRAN 

ing  how  unshakable  were  her  resolutions,  he  made 
a  desperate  attempt  to  divert  her  mind :  '  That 
is  settled,  Miss  Grace,  and  it's  too  late  now  to  alter 
the  decision,  for  the  school-board  has  already  voted 
us  a  new  superintendent  —  he  has  been  sent  his 
notification.  Abbott  Ashton  is  out  of  it,  and  it's 
all  his  fault.  Bob  was  the  only  one  to  stand  up 
for  him,  but  he  wasn't  strong  enough  to  hold  his 
friend  above  the  wave  of  popular  opinion. 
Don't  ask  me  to  interview  Bob  for  Abbott  Ashton." 

Grace  calmly  waited  for  this  futility  to  pass; 
then  with  an  air  suggesting,  "  Now,  shall  we  talk 
sensibly?"  she  resumed:  "I  approve  the  action 
of  the  school-board.  It  did  well  in  dismissing  Pro 
fessor  Ashton.  May  I  speak  about  Mr.  Clinton? 
He  urges  me  to  marry  him  at  once." 

"  Nonsense !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  It  is  not  nonsense,"  Grace  calmly  responded. 
"  He  thinks  I  could  make  him  a  better  man.  We 
would  work  among  the  very  poor  in  the  Chicago 
settlements;  maybe  in  one  of  your  own  missions.. 
I  often  wonder  if  I  couldn't  do  more  good  by  per 
sonal  contact  with  evil,  than  I  can  here,  with  a  per 
son  like  Fran  always  clogging  my  efforts." 


A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  257 

He  started  up.  "Grace!  You  go  away?  — 
And  —  and  leave  me  and  my  work?  " 

"  Let  Fran  fill  my  position.  You  think  she's  the 
daughter  of  your  boyhood  friend  —  it  would  give 
her  position  and  independence." 

"  No  one  can  ever  fill  your  place,"  Gregory  ex 
claimed,  with  violence.  His  cheeks  burned, 
lambent  flames  gleamed  in  his  brown  eyes.  The 
effect  was  startlingly  beautiful.  At  such  exalted 
moments,  thinking  no  evil  because  ceasing  to  think, 
grown  all  feeling,  and  it  but  an  infinite  longing,  the 
glow  of  passion  refined  his  face,  always  delicately 
sensitive.  The  vision  of  Grace,  in  giving  herself 
to  another,  like  a  devouring  fire  consumed  those 
temporary  supports  that  held  him  above  the  shift 
ing  sands  of  his  inner  nature. 

"  Grace !  But  Grace !  You  wouldn't  marry 
him! " 

Because  she  found  his  beauty  appealing  to  her  as 
never  before,  her  voice  was  the  colder :  "  Any 
one's  place  can  be  filled." 

"  You  don't  car  el "  he  cried  out  desperately. 

"  For  Mr.  Clinton  ?  Yes,  I  admire  his  per 
sistence  in  seeking  God,  and  his  wish  to  work  for 


258  FRAN 

mankind.  God  comes  easier  to  some  than  to 
others,  and  I  believe  I  could  help  — " 

Gregory,  aghast  at  her  measured  tone,  inter 
rupted  :  "  But  I  mean  that  you  don't  care  —  don't 
care  for  me." 

"  For  — "  she  began  abruptly,  then  added  in  an 
odd  whisper,  "  for  you*? '' 

"  Yes,  for  me  ...  don't  care  how  much  I 
suffer,  or  whether  I  suffer  at  all  —  I  mean  my 
work,  if  it  suffers.  If  I  lose  you,  Grace — " 

"  Oh,  you  will  always  have  Fran." 

"Fran!"  he  ejaculated.  "So  you  don't  care, 
Grace  ...  It  seems  incredible  because  I  care 
so  much.  Grace!"  His  accent  was  that  of  utter 
despair.  "  How  can  I  lose  you  since  you  are 
everything?  What  would  be  left  to  live  for? 
Nobody  else  sympathizes  with  my  aims.  Who  but 
you  understands?  Oh,  nobody  will  ever  sympa 
thize  —  ever  care  — " 

"  But,  Mr.  Gregory !  "  she  began,  confused. 
Her  face  had  grown  white. 

"Grace !  "  he  caught  her  hand,  expecting  it  to 
be  snatched  away  —  the  hand  he  had  hourly  ad 
mired  at  its  work;  he  could  feel  its  warmth,  caress 
its  shapeliness  —  and  it  did  not  resist.  It  trembled. 


A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  259 

He  was  afraid  to  press  it  at  first,  lest  it  be 
wrenched  free;  and  then,  the  next  moment,  he  was 
clasping  it  convulsively.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  Grace  did  not  meet  his  eyes. 

"  Grace!  "  he  panted,  not  knowing  what  he  was 
saying,  "  you  care,  I  see  you  care  for  me  —  don't 
you?" 

"  No,"  she  whispered.  Her  lips  were  dry,  her 
eyes  wide,  her  bosom  heaving.  Bounderies  hith 
erto  unchangeable,  were  suddenly  submerged.  Des 
perately,  as  if  for  her  life,  she  sought  to  cling  to 
such  floating  landmarks  as  Duty,  Conscience, 
Virtue  —  but  they  were  drifting  madly  beyond 
reach. 

"  But  you  can't  love  him,  can  you  ?  "  Gregory 
asked  brokenly. 

Grace,  with  closed  eyes,  shook  her  head  —  what 
harm  could  there  be  in  that  confession?  After  his 
voice  ceased,  she  still  heard  the  roaring  as  of  a 
shell,  as  if  she  might  be  half-drowned  in  mere 
sound. 

"  You  won't  go  away,  will  you,  Grace  ? "  he 
pleaded,  drawing  her  closer. 

She  shook  her  head,  lips  still  parted,  eyes  still 
closed. 


260  FRAN 

"  Speak  to  me,  Grace.  Tell  me  you  will  never 
leave  me." 

Her  lips  trembled,  then  he  heard  a  faint 
"  Never !  "  Instantly  neck  and  brow  were  crim 
soned;  her  face,  always  superb,  became  enchanting. 
The  dignity  of  the  queen  was  lost  in  the  woman's 
greater  charm. 

"  Because  you  love  me !  "  cried  Gregory  wildly. 
"  I  know  you  do,  now,  I  know  you  do !  "  His  arm 
was  about  her.  "  You  will  never  leave  me  because 
you  love  me.  Look  at  me,  Grace !  " 

It  seemed  that  her  eyelids  were  held  down  by 
tyrannous  thumbs.  She  tried  to  lift  them,  and 
tried  again.  Her  face  was  irradiated  by  the  sun 
rise  glow  of  a  master  passion.  Swiftly  he  kissed 
her  lips,  and  as  she  remained  motionless,  he  kissed 
her  again  and  again. 

Suddenly  she  exclaimed  blindly,  "  Oh,  my  God !  " 
Then  she  threw  her  arms  about  him,  as  he  drew 
her  to  his  bosom. 

It  was  at  that  moment,  as  if  Fate  herself  had 
timed  the  interruption,  that  Fran  entered. 

There  was  a  violent  movement  of  mutual  repul 
sion  on  the  part  of  Hamilton  Gregory  and  his  sec 
retary.  Fran  stood  very  still,  the  sharpness  of  her 


A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  261 

profile  defined,  with  the  keenness  of  eyes  and  a 
slight  grayness  about  the  lips  that  made  her  look 
oddly  small  and  old. 

Fran  was  a  dash  of  water  upon  raging  fire.  The 
effect  was  not  extinguishment,  but  choking  vapors. 
Bewildered,  lost  to  old  self -consciousness,  it  was 
necessary  for  Grace  to  readjust  herself  not  only  to 
these  two,  but  to  herself  as  well. 

Fran  turned  upon  her  father,  and  pointed  toward 
his  desk.  "  Stand  there !  "  she  said,  scarcely  above 
a  whisper. 

Gregory  burst  forth  in  blind  wrath :  "  How  dare 
you  enter  the  room  in  this  manner?  You  shall 
leave  this  house  at  once,  and  for  ever.  ...  I 
should  have  driven  you  out  long  ago.  Do  you  hear 
me?  Go!" 

Fran's  arm  was  still  extended.  "  Stand  there !  " 
she  repeated. 

Quivering  in  helpless  fury,  he  stumbled  to  his 
desk,  and  leaned  upon  it.  His  face  burned;  that 
of  Grace  Noir  was  ghastly  white. 

"  Now,  you,"  said  Fran,  her  voice  vibrating  as 
she  faced  the  secretary,  "  go  to  your  typewriter !  " 

Grace  did  not  move. 

Fran's  eyes  resembled  cold  stones  with  jagged 


262  FRAN 

points  as  her  steady  arm  pointed :  "  Go !  Stand 
where  I  tell  you  to  stand.  Oh,  I  have  tamed  lions 
before  to-day.  You  needn't  look  at  me  so  —  I'm 
not  afraid  of  your  teeth." 

Grace's  fear  was  not  inspired  by  dread  of  ex 
posure,  but  by  the  realization  that  she  had  done 
what  she  could  not  have  forgiven  in  another.  But 
for  the  supreme  moment  she  might  never  have  re 
alized  the  real  nature  of  her  feeling  for  her  em 
ployer.  She  stood  appalled  and  humiliated,  yet  her 
spirit  rose  in  hot  revolt  because  it  was  Fran  who 
had  found  her  in  Gregory's  arms.  She  glared  at 
her  defiantly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Fran  somberly,  "  that's  my  profes 
sion,  lion-taming.  I'm  the  '  World-Famous  Fran 
Nonpareil '.  Go  to  your  typewriter,  Grace  Noir,  I 
say  — Go!" 

Grace  could  not  speak  without  filling  every  word 
with  concentrated  hate :  "  You  wicked  little  spy, 
your  evil  nature  won't  let  you  see  anything  but  evil 
in  the  fruits  of  your  eavesdropping.  You  misjudge 
simply  because  it  would  be  impossible  for  you  to 
understand." 

"  I  see  by  your  face  that  you  understand  —  pity 
you  hadn't  waked  up  long  ago."  Fran  looked 


A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  263 

from  one  to  the  other  with  a  dark  face.  Whether 
justly  or  not,  they  reminded  her  of  two  lions  in  a 
cage;  she  stood  between,  to  keep  them  apart,  lest, 
combining  their  forces,  they  spring  upon  her. 

"  I  understand  nothing  of  what  you  imagine  you 
know,"  Grace  said  stammeringly.  "  I  haven't  com 
mitted  a  crime.  Stop  looking  at  me  as  if  I  had  — 
do  you  hear?  "  Her  tone  was  passionate:  "  I  am 
what  I  have  always  been  — "  Did  she  say  that  to 
reassure  herself?  "What  do  you  mean,  Fran?  I 
command  you  to  put  your  suspicions  in  words." 

"  I  have  had  them  roar  at  me  before  to-day," 
cried  Fran.  "  What  I  mean  is  that  you're  to  leave 
the  house  this  day." 

"  I  shall  not  leave  this  house,  unless  Mr.  Greg 
ory  orders  it.  It  would  be  admitting  that  I've  done 
wrong,  and  I  am  what  I  have  always  been.  What 
you  saw  ...  I  will  say  this  much,  that  it 
shall  never  happen  again.  But  nothing  has  hap 
pened  that  you  think,  little  impostor,  with  your  evil 
mind  ...  I  am  what  I  have  always  been. 
And  I'm  going  to  prove  that  you  are  an  impostor 
in  a  very  short  time." 

Fran  turned  to  Hamilton  Gregory.  "  Tell  her 
to  go,"  she  said  threateningly.  "  Tell  her  she 


264  FRAN 

must.  Order  it.  You  know  what  I  mean  when  I 
say  she  must  go,  and  she  needn't  show  her  claws  at 
me.  I  don't  go  into  the  cage  without  my  whip. 
Tell  her  to  go." 

He  turned  upon  Fran,  pushed  to  utter  despera 
tion.  "  No  —  you  shall  go !  "  he  said  between 
clenched  teeth. 

"Yes!"  exclaimed  Grace.  It  was  a  hiss  of  tri 
umphant  hate. 

Fran  lost  control  over  herself.  "  Do  you  think, 
knowing  what  I  know,  that  I'll  stand  quietly  by 
and  see  you  disgrace  your  wife  as  you  disgraced 
.  .  .  Do  you  think  I'll  let  you  have  this  Grace 
Noir  for  your  .  .  .  to  be  the  third  —  Do  you 
think  I've  come  out  of  your  past  life  to  fold  my 
hands?  I  tell  you  plainly  that  I'll  ruin  you  with 
that  secret  before  I'll  let  you  have  this  woman." 

Gregory  beheld  the  awful  secret  quivering  upon 
her  lips.  The  danger  drove  him  mad.  "  You 
devil!  "  he  shouted,  rushing  upon  her. 

Fran  stood  immovable,  her  eyes  fastened  on  his. 
"  Don't  strike  me,"  she  said  tensely,  "  don't  strike 
me,  I  warn  you,  unless  you  kill  at  the  first  blow." 

He  staggered  back  as  if  her  words  possessed  phys 
ical  impact.  He  shrunk  in  a  heap  in  the  library 


A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  265 

chair  and  dropped  his  head  upon  his  arms.  To 
prevent  Grace  from  learning  the  truth,  he  could 
have  done  almost  anything  in  that  first  moment  of 
insane  terror;  but  he  could  not  strike  Fran. 

In  the  meantime,  Mrs.  Gregory  had  been  ascend 
ing  the  stairs.  They  could  hear  her  now,  as  she 
softly  moved  along  the  hall.  No  one  in  the  library 
wished,  at  that  moment,  to  confront  the  wife,  and 
absolute  silence  reigned  in  the  apartment.  They 
heard  her  pause,  when  opposite  the  door,  doubtless 
to  assure  herself  that  the  typewriter  was  at  work. 
If  she  did  not  hear  the  clicking  of  the  keys,  she 
might  conclude  that  Grace  was  absent,  and  enter. 

Gregory  raised  his  haggard  head  with  an  air  sug 
gesting  meditated  flight.  Even  Grace  cowered  back 
instinctively. 

Swift  as  a  shadow,  Fran  darted  on  tiptoe  to  the 
typewriter,  and  began  pounding  upon  it  vigorously. 

Mrs.  Gregory  passed  on  her  way,  and  when  she 
reached  the  farther  end  of  the  hall,  an  old  hymn 
which  she  had  been  humming,  broke  into  audible 
words.  Fran  snatched  the  sheet  from  the  type 
writer,  and  bent  her  head  to  listen.  The  words 
were  soft,  full  of  a  thrilling  faith,  a  dauntless  cour 
age— 


266  FRAN 

"  Still  all  my  song  shall  be 
Nearer  my  God  to  Thee, 
Nearer—" 

A  door  closed.  She  was  gone.  Gregory  dropped 
his  head  with  a  groan. 

It  seemed  to  Fran  that  the  voice  of  this  wife 
who  was  not  a  wife,  lingered  in  the  room.  The 
hymn,  no  longer  audible,  had  left  behind  it  a  fra 
grance,  as  sometimes  lingers  the  sweet  savor  of  a 
prayer,  after  its  "  amen  "  has,  as  it  were,  dropped 
back  into  the  heart  whence  it  issued.  Fran  in 
stinctively  held  out  both  arms  toward  the  direction 
of  the  door  just  closed,  as  if  she  could  see  Mrs. 
Gregory  kneeling  behind  it. 

"  Almost,"  she  said,  in  a  solemn  undertone, 
"  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian." 

Had  any  one  but  Mrs.  Gregory  been  singing  that 
hymn,  had  any  one  but  Fran  been  the  one  to  in 
trude  upon  the  library  scene,  Grace  must  have  been 
overwhelmed.  As  it  was,  she  stood  quite  un 
touched,  resolving  to  stay  in  order  to  prove  herself, 
and  to  show  Gregory  that  they  must  sacrifice  their 
love  for  conscience'  sake. 

Gregory,  however,  was  deeply  touched  by  Fran's 
yearning  arms.  He  rose  and  stood  before  her. 


A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  267 

"  Fran,  child,  we  promise  that  what  you  saw  shall 
never  happen  again.  But  you  mustn't  tell  about 
it.  I  know  you  won't  tell.  I  can't  send  Grace 
away,  because  I  need  her.  She  will  not  go  because 
she  knows  herself  to  be  strong.  We  are  going  to 
hide  our  souls.  And  you  can't  tell  what  you've 
seen,  on  account  of  her — "  He  pointed  in  the  di 
rection  of  his  wife. 

Fran  knew  very  well  what  he  meant.  If  she 
told  the  secret,  it  would  disgrace  Mrs.  Gregory. 
The  revelation  might  drive  Grace  away,  though 
Fran  did  not  think  so,  but  certainly  whether  Grace 
went,  or  stayed,  it  would  break  the  heart  of  the 
one  she  loved  best  in  that  home.  Gregory  was 
right;  Fran  could  never  betray  him. 

She  turned  blindly  upon  Grace :  "  Then  have 
you  no  conscience  ?  —  you  are  always  talking  about 
one.  Does  no  sense  of  danger  warn  you  away? 
Can't  you  feel  any  shame?" 

Grace  did  not  smile  contemptuously.  She 
weighed  these  words  at  their  real  value,  and  soberly 
interrogated  herself.  "  No,"  she  declared  with  de 
liberation,  "  I  feel  no  sense  of  danger  because  I 
mean  to  guard  myself  after  this.  And  my  con 
science  bids  me  stay,  to  show  that  I  have  not  really 


268  FRAN 

done  anything — "  But  she  could  not  deny  the 
feeling  of  shame,  for  the  burning  of  her  cheeks 
proved  the  recollection  of  hot  kisses. 

"  But  suppose  I  tell  what  I  have  seen." 

"  Well,"  said  Grace,  flashing  out  defiantly,  "  and 
suppose  you  do!  " 

Gregory  muttered,  "  Who  would  believe  you  ?  " 

Fran  looked  at  him.  "  Then,"  she  said,  "  the 
coward  spoke."  She  added,  "  I  guess  the  only  way 
is  for  you  to  make  her  leave.  There's  nothing  in 
her  for  me  to  appeal  to." 

"  I  will  never  tell  her  to  go,"  he  assured  her  de 
fiantly. 

"  While,  on  the  contrary,"  said  Grace,  "  I  fancy 
you  will  be  put  to  flight  in  three  or  four  days." 

Fran  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  silently 
while  they  stared  at  her  in  blank  perplexity. 

Fran  regained  composure  to  say  coolly,  "  I  was 
just  laughing."  Then  she  stepped  to  her  father's 
chair  and  handed  him  the  sheet  she  had  drawn 
from  the  typewriter.  The  upper  part  was  an  un 
finished  letter  to  the  Chicago  mission,  just  as  Grace 
had  left  it  in  her  haste  to  get  rid  of  Fran.  At  odd 
variance  with  its  philanthropic  message  were  the 


A  TAMER  OF  LIONS  269 

words  Fran  had  pounded  out  for  the  deception  of 
Mrs.  Gregory. 

Hamilton  Gregory  glared  at  them  at  first  uncom- 
prehendingly,  then  in  growing  amazement.  They 
read  — 

"Ask  her  why  she  sent  Bob  Clinton  to  Spring 
field." 

He  started  up.  "What  is  this?"  he  exclaimed 
wildly,  extending  the  paper  toward  Grace. 

She  read  it,  and  smiled  coldly.  "  Yes,"  she  said, 
"  the  little  spy  has  even  ferreted  that  out,  has  she ! 
Very  well,  she  won't  be  so  cool  when  Mr.  Clinton 
returns  from  Springfield." 

"  From  Springfield !  "  echoed  Gregory,  aghast. 

"  From  Springfield.  Mr.  Gregory,  I  have  made 
the  discovery  that  this  Fran,  whom  you  imagine 
only  about  sixteen  years  old,  and  the  daughter  of 
an  old  friend,  is  really  of  age.  She's  nothing  but 
a  circus-girl.  You  thought  her  joking  when  she 
called  herself  a  lion-tamer;  that's  the  way  she  meant 
for  us  to  take  it  —  but  she  can't  deceive  me.  She's 
nothing  but  a  show-girl  pretending  to  come  from 
Springfield.  But  I  know  better.  So  I've  sent  Mr. 
Qinton  there  to  find  out  all  about  the  family  of 


270  FRAN 

your  friend,  and  in  particular  about  the  girl  that 
this  Fran  is  impersonating." 

"  You  sent  Bob  Clinton  to  Springfield !  "  gasped 
Gregory,  as  if  his  mind  could  get  no  further  than 
that.  Then  he  turned  savagely  upon  Fran  — "  And 
did  you  tell  her  about  Springfield?  " 

Fran  smiled  her  crooked  smile. 

Grace  interposed :  "  You  may  be  sure  she  didn't ! 
Do  you  think  she  wanted  her  history  cleared  up? 
Mr.  Gregory,  you  have  been  blind  all  the  time ;  this 
girl  never  saw  Springfield.  She's  a  complete  fraud. 
Since  you  are  so  blinded  by  what  she  says  that  you 
won't  investigate  her  claims,  I  decided  to  do  this 
for  your  sake.  When  Mr.  Clinton  comes  back,  it's 
good-by  to  this  circus-girl!  " 

Fran  looked  at  her  father  inscrutably.  "  I  be 
lieve,  after  this,"  she  said,  "  it  will  be  safe  to  leave 
you  two  together." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SHALL  THE  SECRET  BE  TOLD  ? 

T?RAN  had  expected  Robert  Clinton's  return  in 
four  or  five  days,  as  had  Grace  Noir,  but  se 
crets  that  have  been  buried  for  many  years  are  not 
picked  up  in  a  day.  However,  had  the  chairman 
of  the  school-board  returned  the  day  after  his  de 
parture,  Abbott  Ashton  would  have  met  him  at  the 
station.  Twice,  in  the  opinion  of  Fran,  the  young 
man  had  failed  her  by  allowing  Grace's  mind  to 
flash  to  important  discoveries  along  the  path  of  his 
insulated  remarks  about  the  weather.  This  third 
test  was  more  equal,  since  he  was  to  deal  with  no 
Grace  Noir  —  merely  with  a  man. 

As  Littleburg  had  only  one  railroad,  and  it  a 
"  branch  ",  it  was  not  difficult  to  meet  every  train; 
moreover,  Miss  Sapphira's  hasty  notes  from  her 
brother  kept  Abbott  advised.  At  first,  Miss  Sap- 
phira  said,  "  It  will  be  a  week;  "  later — "  Ten  days 
more  —  and  the  business  left  like  this !  "  Then 
271 


272  FRAN 

came  the  final  bulletin :  "  I  may  come  to-morrow. 
Look  for  me  when  you  see  me." 

What  the  secret  was  that  Abbott  must  prevent 
Clinton  from  divulging,  he  did  not  care  to* guess; 
doubtless  the  picture  of  Gregory's  past,  with  its 
face  to  the  wall,  might  be  inscribed,  "  Some  other 
woman."  For  surely  Grace  Noir  was  some  other 
woman.  Having  admitted  the  truth  to  himself,  he 
wondered  that  all  the  world  did  not  see  —  or  was  it 
that  all  the  world  needed  a  Fran  to  open  eyes  will 
fully  blind? 

With  these  thoughts,  Abbott  met  the  evening 
train,  to  see  Robert  Clinton  hastily  emerge  from  the 
solitude  he  had  endured  in  the  midst  of  many. 

Robert  was  in  no  pacific  mood,  and  when  he  found 
himself  almost  in  the  arms  of  Abbott,  his  greeting 
was  boisterous  because  impatient  at  being  stopped. 
Abbott,  knowing  that  Robert  was  not  ordinarily  ef 
fusive,  thought,  "  He  has  the  secret !  " 

Robert  shook  hands  without  delaying  progress 
toward  the  waiting  hack,  bearing  Abbott  along  on 
waves  of  greeting. 

"  But  surely  you  are  not  going  to  ride! "  Abbott 
expostulated. 

"  Business  —  very  pressing  —  see  you  later." 


SHALL  THE  SECRET  BE  TOLD?     273 

"  But  I  have  business  with  you,  Mr.  Clinton,  that 
can't  wait.  Come,  walk  with  me  to  town  and  I'll 
explain;  it'll  delay  you  only  a  few  minutes." 

LikeV  restive  horse  on  finding  himself  restrained, 
Robert  Clinton  lifted  a  leg  without  advancing. 
"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  agreed.  "  In  fact,  I've  some 
thing  important  for  you,  old  fellow,  and  I'll  ex 
plain  before  I  —  before  the  —  yes,  before,"  he 
ended,  turning  his  back  upon  the  hack  with  a 
smothered  growl. 

They  penetrated  the  silent  by-streets  of  the  out 
skirts  of  Littleburg,  Robert  going  as  fast  as  he 
could  drag  his  companion,  and  Abbott  walking  as 
slowly  as  he  could  hold  back  the  other. 

"  Lucky  I  was  at  the  station,"  Abbott  exclaimed, 
"  since  you've  something  to  tell  me,  Bob.  What  is 
it  ?  "  In  thus  addressing  his  old  friend  as  "  Bob  " 
the  young  man  was  officially  declaring  that  their 
relationship  as  teacher  and  school-director  was  for 
ever  at  an  end,  and  they  stood  as  man  to  man. 

Clinton  spoke  rapidly,  with  his  wonted  brusk- 
ness :  "  Guess  you  know  I've  been  knocking  about 
the  country  for  the  last  three  or  four  weeks  —  saw 
a  good  many  old  friends  —  a  fellow  can't  go  any 
where  without  meeting  somebody  he  knows  —  curi- 


274  FRAN 

ous,  isn't  it?  Well,  I've  got  an  opening  for  you. 
You  know  how  sorry  I  am  because  we  had  to  plump 
another  teacher  on  to  your  job,  but  don't  you  worry 
if  Fran  did  hold  your  hand  —  just  you  keep  your 
hands  in  your  pockets  after  this,  when  there's  dan 
ger  —  Say !  I've  got  something  lots  better  for  you 
than  Littleburg.  School  out  in  Oklahoma  —  rich 
—  private  man  behind  it  —  he  owns  the  whole  plant, 
and  he's  determined  to  run  it  to  suit  the  new  ideas. 
This  rich  man  —  chum  of  mine  —  went  West, 
bought  land,  sat  on  it,  got  up  with  his  jeans  full  of 
money.  Wants  you  to  come  at  once." 

Abbott  was  elated.     "  What  kind  of  new  ideas, 
Bob?  "  he  asked  joyously. 

"  Oh,  that  impractical  nonsense  of  teaching  life 
instead  of  books  —  I  guess  it's  as  much  an  advance 
over  the  common  thing,  as  teaching  words  instead 
of  a,  b,  c's.  You  know  what  I  mean,  but  I  don't 
think  /  do.  Don't  worry  about  it  now  —  something 
terrible's  on  my  mind  —  just  awful!  I  can't  think 
of  anything  else.  What  you  want  to  do  is  to  scoot 
out  to  Tahlelah,  Oklahoma,  to  this  address  — 
here's  his  card  —  tell  'em  Bob  sent  you  — "  He 
looked  at  Abbott  feverishly,  as  if  almost  hoping 


SHALL  THE  SECRET  BE  TOLD?     275 

Abbott  would  bolt  for  Tahlelah  then  and  there. 
His  broad  red  face  was  set  determinedly. 

"  This  news  is  splendid ! "  Abbott  declared  en 
thusiastically.  "  I  had  already  applied  for  a  coun 
try  school ;  I  was  afraid  I  had  lost  out  a  whole  year, 
on  account  of  —  everything.  I  must  thank — " 

"  Abbott,  I  don't  want  to  be  thanked,  I  haven't 
got  time  to  be  thanked.  Yonder's  Hamilton  Greg 
ory's  house  and  that's  where  I'm  bound  —  good 
night—" 

"  But,  Bob,  I  haven't  told  you  my  business  — " 

"  I'll  hear  it  later,  old  fellow  —  dear  old  fellow  — 
I  think  a  heap  of  you,  old  Abb.  But  I  must  go 
now  — " 

"  No,  you  mustn't.  Before  you  go  into  that 
house,  we  must  have  a  little  talk.  We  can't  talk 
here  —  people  are  coming  and  going — " 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  here,  bless  you!  I  want 
to  go  in  that  house.  My  business  is  private  and 
pressing."  The  gate  was  but  a  few  yards  away; 
he  looked  at  it  fixedly,  but  Abbott  held  his  hand 
upon  the  agitated  arm. 

"  Bob,  what  I  have  to  tell  you  can't  wait,  and  that's 
all  about  it.  I  won't  keep  you  long,  just  turn  down 


276  FRAN 

this  alley  with  me,    for  it's  a  matter  of  life  and 
death." 

"  Confound  your  life  and  death!  My  business  is 
life  and  death,  too." 

At  that  moment,  a  light  was  turned  on  in  Greg 
ory's  library,  and  Grace  Noir  was  seen  to  pass  the 
window. 

Abbott's  hand  tightened  on  the  other's  arm,  as  he 
urged,  "  Down  that  alley,  a  nice  dark  place  for 
talking  — 

"  '  Nice  dark  ',  be  hanged !  "  growled  Robert. 
"  What  business  can  you  have  with  me  that 
wouldn't  wait  till  morning?  Look  here,  I'm  des 
perate  !  " 

"  So  am  I,"  retorted  Abbott.  "  Bob,  you've  been 
to  Springfield." 

Robert  Clinton  snatched  open  the  yard-gate,  mut 
tering,  "  That's  my  business." 

"  Miss  Noir  sent  you  to  unearth  a  secret." 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  Robert,  in  an  altered  tone, 
stopping  in  the  gateway,  "  did  she  tell  you  about 
it?" 

"  No  —  but  you've  brought  back  that  secret,  and 
you  must  not  tell  it  to  Miss  Noir." 

"Not  tell  her?     That's   funny!"     Robert  pro- 


SHALL  THE  SECRET  BE  TOLD?     277 

duced  a  sound  which  he  expected  to  pass  as  laugh 
ter.  "  So  that's  what  you  wanted  to  tell  me,  is  it  ? 
Do  you  know  what  the  secret  is?  " 

"  I  do  not.     But  you  mustn't  tell  it." 

"  However,  that's  what  I'm  going  to  do,  as  soon 
as  I  reach  that  door  —  take  your  hand  off,  man, 
my  blood's  up,  by  George!  Can't  you  see  my 
blood's  up?  It's  a-boiling,  that's  what  it's  doing! 
So  all  you  want  is  to  ask  me  not  to  tell  that  secret?  " 

"  Not  exactly  all." 

"  Well,  well  —  quick !     What  else  ?  " 

"  To  see  that  you  don't  tell  it." 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  '  see  '  that  I  don't  tell  it  ?  " 

"  You  will  listen  to  reason,  Bob,"  said  Abbott 
persuasively. 

"  No,  I  won't !  "  cried  Robert.  "  Not  me !  No, 
sir!  I'm  going  to  tell  this  minute." 

"  You  shall  not ! "  said  Abbott,  in  a  lower  and 
more  compelling  tone.  His  manner  was  so  abso 
lute,  that  Robert  Clinton,  who  had  forced  his  way 
almost  to  the  porch-steps,  was  slightly  moved. 

"  See  here,  Abbott  —  say !  Fran  knows  all  about 
it,  and  you  pretend  to  think  a  good  deal  of  her. 
Well,  it's  to  her  interests  for  the  whole  affair  to  be 
laid  open  to  the  world." 


278  FRAN 

"  I  think  so  much  of  Fran,"  was  the  low  and 
earnest  rejoinder,  "  that  if  I  were  better  fixed,  I'd 
ask  her  to  marry  me  without  a  moment's  delay. 
And  I  think  enough  of  her,  not  to  ask  her  to  marry 
me,  until  I  have  a  good  position.  Now  it  was 
Fran  who  asked  me  to  see  that  you  didn't  betray 
the  secret.  And  I  think  so  much  of  her,  that  I'm 
going  to  see  that  you  don't !  " 

For  a  moment  Clinton  was  silent;  then  he  said 
in  desperation :  "  Where  is  your  nice  dark  alley  ? 
Come  on,  then,  let's  get  in  it !  " 

When  they  were  safe  from  interruption,  Clinton 
resumed :  "  You  tell  me  that  Fran  wants  that  se 
cret  kept?  I'd  think  she'd  want  it  told  everywhere. 
This  secret  is  nothing  at  all  but  the  wrong  that  was 
done  Fran  and  her  mother.  And  since  you  are  so 
frank  about  how  you  like  Fran,  I'll  follow  suit  and 
say  that  I  have  asked  Grace  Noir  to  marry  me, 
and  I  know  I'll  stand  a  better  show  by  getting  her 
out  of  the  hypnotic  spell  of  that  miserable  scoun 
drel  who  poses  as  a  bleating  sheep—1-" 

Abbott  interrupted:  "The  wrong  done  Fran? 
How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  man,  that  —  that  hypocrite  in  wool,  that 
weed  that  infests  the  ground,  that  — 


SHALL  THE  SECRET  BE  TOLD?     279 

"In  short,  Mr.  Gregory?  But  what  about  the 
wrong  done  Fran?  " 

"Ain't  I  telling  you?  That  worm-eaten  pillar 
of  the  church  that's  made  me  lose  so  much  faith  in 
religion  that  I  ain't  got  enough  left  worth  the 
postage  stamp  to  mail  it  back  to  the  revival  meeting 
where  it  come  from — " 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Bob,  tell  me  what  wrong  Mr. 
Gregory  did  Fran !  " 

"  Didn't  he  marry  Fran's  mother  when  he  was 
a  college  chap  in  Springfield,  and  then  desert  her? 
Didn't  he  marry  again,  although  his  first  wife  — 
Fran's  mother  —  was  living,  and  hadn't  been  di 
vorced?  Don't  he  refuse  to  acknowledge  Fran  as 
his  daughter,  making  her  pass  herself  off  as  the 
daughter  of  some  old  college  chum?  That's  what 
he  did,  your  choir-leader !  I'd  like  to  see  that  baton 
of  his  laid  over  his  back;  I'd  like  to  lay  it,  my 
self." 

It  was  impossible  for  Abbott  to  receive  all  this 
as  a  whole;  he  took  up  the  revelations  one  at  a 
time.  "  Is  it  possible  that  Fran  is  Mr.  Gregory's 
daughter?" 

"  Oh,  she's  his,  all  right,  only  child  of  his  only 
legal  wife  —  that's  why  she  came,  thinking  her 


280  FRAN 

father  would  do  the  right  thing,  him  that's  always 
praying  to  be  guided  aright,  and  balking  whenever 
the  halter's  pulled  straight." 

"  Then,"  Abbott  stammered,  "  Mrs.  Gregory 
is  .  .  ." 

"  Yap ;  is  with  a  question  mark.  But  there's 
one  thing  she  isn't;  she  isn't  the  legal  wife  of  this 
pirate  what's  always  a-preying  upon  the  consciences 
of  folks  that  thinks  they're  worse  than  him." 

"As  for  Mr.  Gregory,"  Abbott  began  sternly  - 

Robert  pursued  the  name  with  a  vigorous  exple 
tive,  and  growled,  "  One  thing  Mr.  Gregory  has 
done  for  me,  he's  opened  the  flood-gates  that  have 
been  so  long  dammed  —  yes,  I  say  dammed  —  I 
say—" 

"  Bob,"  Abbott  exclaimed,  "  don't  you  under 
stand  Fran's  object  in  keeping  the  secret?  It's  on 
account  of  Mrs.  Gregory.  If  she  finds  it  out  — 
that  she's  not  legally  married  —  don't  you  see?  Of 
course  it  would  be  to  Fran's  interests  —  bless  her 
heart!  What  a  —  what  a  Nonpareil!" 

"  'Tain't  natural,"  returned  Clinton,  "  for  any 
girl  to  consult  the  interests  of  the  woman  that's 
supplanted  her  mother.  No,  Fran's  afraid  to  have 
it  told  for  fear  she'd  be  injured  by  your  cut-glass 


SHALL  THE  SECRET  BE  TOLD?     281 

paragon,  your  religion-stuffed  pillow  that  calls  itself 
a  man." 

"  Fran  afraid?  That's  a  joke!  I  tell  you,  she's 
thinking  only  of  Mrs.  Gregory." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  Mrs.  Gregory,"  Robert  allowed, 
"  but  Grace  Noir  is  more  to  me  than  any  other 
woman  on  earth.  You  don't  see  the  point.  When 
I  think  of  a  girl  like  Grace  Noir  living  under  the 
same  roof  with  that  —  that  — 

"  Mr.  Gregory,"  Abbott  supplied. 

" —  And  she  so  pure,  so  high,  so  much  above  us. 
.  .  .  It  makes  me  crazy.  And  all  the  time  she's 
been  breathing  the  same  air,  she's  thought  him  a 
Moses  in  the  Wilderness,  and  us  nothing  but  the 
sticks.  Think  of  her  believing  in  that  jelly  pulp, 
that  steel  engraving  in  a  Family  Bible !  No,  I  mean 
to  open  her  eyes,  and  get  her  out  of  his  spider's 
web." 

"  I  see  your  point  of  view." 

'  You  do  if  you  have  eyes.  Think  of  that  per 
fect  angel  —  but  just  say  Grace  Noir  and  you've 
called  all  the  virtues.  And  her  in  his  house !  — " 

"  You  still  believe  in  angels  ?  "  inquired  Abbott 
gravely. 

"Yap;  and  devils  with  long  sort-of-curly  hair, 


282  FRAN 

and  pretty  womanish  faces,  and  voices  like  mo 
lasses." 

"  But  Fran  wants  Mrs.  Gregory  spared  — " 

"  Abbott,  when  I  think  of  Grace  Noir  spending 
one  more  night  under  the  roof  of  that  burrowing 
mole,  that  crocodile  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  the 
rest  of  him  nothing  but  bone  and  gristle  — " 

"Bob,  if  I  assure  you  that  Miss  Noir  will  never 
spend  another  day  under  his  roof,  will  you  agree 
to  keep  this  discovery  to  yourself?" 

"You  can't  make  no  such  assurance.  If  she 
ain't  put  wise  to  what  branch  of  the  animal  kingdom 
he  twigs  to,  she'll  not  leave  his  roof." 

"  Bob,  if  she  leaves  that  house  in  the  morning, 
for  ever,  won't  you  agree  to  silence,  for  Mrs.  Greg 
ory's  sake  —  and  because  Fran  asks  it?" 

"  Fran's  another  angel,  bless  her  heart !  But  you 
can't  work  it." 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  Bob.  I'll  be  guided  by  the  spur 
of  the  moment." 

"  I  need  a  bookkeeper  at  my  store,"  Robert  said, 
ruminating. 

"  I  promise  you  that  Miss  Noir  will  soon  be  open 
to  offers." 

"  See  here,  Abbott,  I  can't  afford  to  lose  any 


SHALL  THE  SECRET  BE  TOLD?     283 

chances  on  this  thing.  I'm  going  into  that  house 
before  this  night  passes,  and  I'm  going  to  see  the 
feathers  fly.  No  —  I  don't  want  Mrs.  Gregory  to 
learn  about  it,  any  more  than  you  or  Fran;  but  I'll 
limit  the  thing  to  Grace  — " 

"  She'd  tell  Mrs.  Gregory." 

"  Don't  you  say  anything  against  Grace  Noir,  Ab 
bott,  for  though  you  are  my  friend  - 

"  I  say  nothing  against  her ;  I  say  only  that  she's 
a  woman." 

"  Well,"  Clinton  reluctantly  agreed,  "  I  reckon 
she  is.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  go  with  you 
into  that  wolf's  den,  and  I'll  let  you  do  all  the  talk 
ing;  and  if  you  can  manage  things  in  half  an  hour  — 
just  thirty  minutes  by  my  watch  —  so  that  Grace 
leaves  there  to-morrow,  I'll  leave  you  to  steer  things, 
and  it's  mum  for  keeps.  But  I'm  going  to  be  pres 
ent,  though  I  don't  want  to  say  one  word  to  that  — 
that  —  But  if  he  don't  crawl  out  of  his  wool  far 
enough  to  suit  the  purpose,  in  short,  if  he  don't 
cave,  and  in  half  an  hour — " 

"  Half  an  hour  will  do  the  business,"  said  Abbott 
stoutly.  "  Come !  " 

"  Be  sure  to  call  for  Mr.  Gregory  by  himself," 
said  Robert,  as  they  walked  swiftly  back  to  the 


284  FRAN 

Gregory  residence.  "If  Grace  comes  into  the  room 
while  we're  talking,  or  Mrs.  Gregory — " 

"  If  they  do,"  Abbott  said  quickly,  "  you  are  not 
to  utter  one  word,  not  one,  about  Springfield  —  you 
understand?  It's  the  bargain,  and  I  shall  hold  you 
to  your  word  of  honor." 

"  For  half  an  hour  I  won't  say  a  word,"  Clinton 
declared,  "  unless  it's  some  word  just  drawn  out  of 
my  bosom  by  the  sight  of  that  villain.  Come!  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES 

"PNURING  the  weeks  spent  by  Robert  Clinton  in 
search  of  Fran's  life-secret,  a  consciousness 
of  absence  and  its  cause  was  like  a  hot  iron  branding 
Gregory's  brain.  What  a  mocking  fatality,  that  it 
should  have  been  Grace  to  send  Robert  on  his  terri 
ble  errand, —  an  errand  which  must  result  in  ruin! 
Whenever  Gregory  tried  to  anticipate  results,  he 
stood  appalled;  hour  by  hour  his  mind  was  ever 
darting  forward  into  the  future,  trying  to  build  it 
of  related  parts  of  probabilities. 

Mrs.   Gregory  would  be  pitied  when  it  became 

known  how  she  had  been  deceived;  Fran  would  be 

pitied  because  she  was  a  disowned  daughter;  Grace 

would  be  pitied  for  trusting  in  the  integrity  of  her 

employer, —  but  Gregory,  who  of  all  men  needed 

pity  most,  would  be  utterly  despised.     He  did  not 

think  of  himself  alone,  but  of  his  works  of  charity 

—  they,  too,  would  fall,  in  his  disgrace,  and  Walnut 

Street  church  —  even  religion  itself  —  would  be  dis- 

285 


286  FRAN 

credited  because  of  an  exposure  that  could  avail 
nothing. 

Gregory  had  been  too  long  proclaiming  the  living 
God  not  to  feel  Him  as  a  Presence,  and  in  this 
Presence  he  felt  a  shuddering  fear  that  could  sug 
gest  no  relief  but  propitiation.  He  as  well  as  Ab 
bott  Ashton  had  kept  himself  informed  of  Robert's 
movements  as  far  as  they  were  known  to  Miss  Sap- 
phira,  hence  the  day  of  Robert's  return  found  his 
thought  of  atonement  at  its  most  frenzied  stage. 

As  evening  wore  on,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  the 
fatal  step. 

Before  Robert  could  expose  him,  Gregory  would 
confess.  It  had  seemed  inevitable  since  learning 
of  the  school-director's  mission;  but  he  could  not 
shorten,  by  one  hour,  the  sweet  comradeship  in  the 
library.  Now  that  the  last  hour  had  come,  he 
sought  his  wife,  reeling  like  a  sick  man  as  he  de 
scended  the  hall  stairs. 

Mrs.  Gregory  was  softly  playing  an  old  hymn, 
when  he  discovered  her  presence  in  the  brilliantly 
lighted  parlor.  Grace  was  expecting  a  visit  from 
Clinton  and  had  made  the  room  cheerful  for  his 
coming,  and  Mrs.  Gregory,  looking  in  and  finding 
no  one  present,  had  sunk  upon  the  stool  before  the 


JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES  287 

piano.  She  did  not  see  her  husband,  for  her  face 
was  bent  low  as  she  feelingly  played,  I  Need  Thee 
Every  Hour. 

Gregory,  well-nigh  overwhelmed  with  the  realiza 
tion  of  what  he  meant  to  do,  grasped  the  door  for 
support.  Presently  he  spoke,  brokenly,  "  Lucy,  how 
true  that  is  —  we  do,  indeed,  need  Him  every  hour." 

She  did  not  start  at  his  voice,  though  his  presence 
had  been  unsuspected.  She  raised  her  serious  eyes, 
and  observed  his  haggard  face.  "  Mr.  Gregory, 
you  are  ill." 

"  No  —  the  light  hurts  my  eyes."  He  turned  off 
the  lights  and  drew  a  chair  near  her.  The  room 
was  partly  revealed  by  an  electric  arc  that  swung  at 
the  street  corner  —  its  mellowed  beams  entered  the 
open  window.  "  Lucy,  I  have  something  very  im 
portant  to  say  to  you." 

Her  fingers  continued  to  wander  among  the  keys, 
making  the  hymn  barely  audible,  then  letting  it  die 
away,  only  to  be  revived.  She  supposed  it  was  the 
old  matter  of  her  going  to  church  —  but  since  her 
name  had  been  taken  "  off  the  book  ",  what  was  left 
to  be  said? 

"  Lucy,  I  have  never  spoken  of  this  before,  but 
it  has  seemed  to  me  for  a  long  time  that  we  have 


288  FRAN 

wandered  rather  far  apart  —  yes,  very  far  apart. 
We  sit  close  together,  alone,  our  hands  could  touch, 
but  our  souls  live  in  different  worlds.  Do  you  ever 
feel  that  way  ?  " 

She  ceased  playing  abruptly,  and  answered  al 
most  in  a  whisper,  "  Yes." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault,"  said  Gregory,  "  al 
though  I  know  that  if  you  had  taken  more  interest 
in  what  interests  me,  if  you  had  been  true  to  the 
Faith  as  I  have  tried  to  be  — 

"  I  have  been  true  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gregory. 

"  Of  course  —  of  course  —  there  is  no  question 
of  our  being  true  to  each  other.  But  it's  because 
you  have  alienated  yourself  from  what  I  look  upon 
as  the  only  duty  in  life,  that  we  have  drifted  —  and 
you  could  have  prevented  that.  I  feel  that  I  am 
not  wholly  to  blame.  Lucy,  it  has  been  my  fault 
and  it  has  been  your  fault  —  that  is  how  I  look  at 
it." 

There  was  silence,  then  she  said,  "  There  seems 
nothing  to  be  done." 

"  How  do  you  mean?  You  speak  as  if  our  love 
were  dead  and  buried  — 

She  rose  abruptly,  saying,  "  And  its  grave  un 
marked." 


JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES  289 

"  Sit  down,  Lucy  —  I  haven't  told  you  what  I 
came  to  tell  —  you  must  listen  and  try  to  see  it  as 
I  see  it.  Let  us  be  reasonable  and  discuss  the  fu 
ture  in  a  —  in  a  sensible  and  matter-of-fact  way. 
If  you  will  agree  — " 

"  I  will  not  agree  to  it,"  she  answered  firmly. 
"  Let  me  go,  Mr.  Gregory,  there  is  no  need  ever  to 
bring  up  that  subject." 

He  had  risen,  and  now  in  blank  amazement,  he 
stared  at  her,  repeating,  "  You  will  not  agree  to  it  ? 
To  what?  You  are  unreasonable.  What  subject 
have  I  brought  up?  " 

"  It  is  very  true  that  we  have  drifted  too  far 
apart  to  be  as  we  were  in  the  beginning.  But  there 
is  still  something  left  to  me,  and  this  something  I 
shall  cling  to  as  long  as  I  can.  I  mean  to  avoid  the 
publicity,  the  open  exposure,  the  shame  of  —  of  — 
a  neglected  wife." 

"  My  God !  "  whispered  Gregory,  falling  back, 
"  then  somebody  has  told  you  about  Springfield  — 
it  was  Fran !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  returned,  ap 
parently  without  emotion.  "  What  I  mean  is,  that 
I  shall  never  consent  to  a  divorce." 

"  A    divorce  ?     Good    heavens,    Lucy,    are    you 


290  FRAN 

mad?  Do  you  think  I  want  a  separation  because 
you  disown  the  church  ?  What  have  I  ever  done  to 
make  you  imagine  such  an  absurdity  ?  " 

She  answered  gently,  "  Yes,  it  seems  I  misunder 
stood.  But  you  said  you  wanted  me  to  discuss  the 
future  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  and  I  couldn't  think 
of  the  future  as  having  any  other  matter-of-fact  so 
lution." 

Gregory  was  hotly  indignant.  "  Lucy,  if  that  is 
meant  as  an  insinuation  against — " 

Mrs.  Gregory  raised  her  hand  compellingly. 
"  Do  not  speak  any  name,"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
steadily.  "  I  can  endure  much,"  she  went  on,  in 
a  milder  tone,  rinding  him  silent;  "  I  often  wonder 
if  many  women  could  endure  as  silently  —  but  there 
must  never  be  a  name  mentioned  between  us." 

Her  manner  was  so  unwonteclly  final,  that  he 
stood  looking  at  her,  not  knowing  how  to  resume 
the  pressing  subject  of  his  past.  They  were  in  that 
same  silent  attitude  when  Grace  Noir  came  in  from 
the  hall. 

Grace  turned  up  the  lights,  and  then  — "  Oh !  " 
It  was  impossible  to  prevent  an  unpleasant  compres 
sion  of  the  mouth  at  discovering  Gregory  so  near 


JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES  291 

his  wife.  "Am  I  in  the  way?  I  am  looking  for 
company,  and  I  heard  the  door-bell  —  please  excuse 
me !  "  she  added,  biting  off  the  words. 

"Of  course  you  are  not  in  the  way,"  Gregory  re 
turned  desperately.  "  Company,  you  say  ?  And 
you  heard  the  door-bell  —  is  Bob  Clinton — "  He 
grew  white.  "  My  eyes  are  bad,  for  some  reason," 
he  muttered,  and  switched  off  the  lights  again. 

"  How  very  dark  you  have  it  in  here !  "  said  Grace 
reprovingly.  "  Of  course  Mr.  Clinton  has  been 
shown  in  the  back-parlor,  where  it  is  light.  I  will 
go  to  him  there,  and  leave  you  two  — "  she  paused 
irresolutely,  but  neither  spoke. 

Grace  had  no  sooner  gone  than  Gregory  with  an 
effort  found  his  voice.  "  Lucy,  my  conscience  has 
tormented  me  until  it  will  not  let  me  rest  —  about 
you.  It's  your  right  to  know  something  more  about 
my  life  than  I  have  ever  told  — " 

"  Right  in  there,"  said  the  maid's  voice,  from  the 
hall,  and  Abbott  Ashton  and  Robert  Clinton  en 
tered  the  half-light. 

While  Robert  was  greeting  Mrs.  Gregory  with 
exaggerated  pleasure,  in  order  to  escape  facing  her 
husband,  Abbott  spoke  to  the  other  with  an  odd 


292  FRAN 

sense  of  meanness,  as  if  he  partook,  by  mere  near 
ness,  of  the  other's  cowardice.  "  I  wish  to  speak 
to  you  for  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Gregory." 

Gregory,  like  an  animal  brought  to  bay,  said,  "  I 
suppose  you've  some  excuse  about  playing  cards 
with  Fran." 

"  More  important  than  playing  cards,"  Abbott  re 
turned.  He  could  not  meet  the  eyes  of  this  man 
he  had  once  highly  venerated  —  it  was  like  behold 
ing  an  ideal  divested  of  imagined  beauty,  shivering 
in  the  shame  of  its  nakedness. 

Gregory  fought  off  the  inevitable:  "If  you  re 
fer  to  losing  your  position  at  the  public  school  - 

"  No.  Clinton  has  come  home  from  Springfield, 
and  we  have  a  matter  — " 

"  It's  pressing  business,"  spoke  up  Robert,  who 
all  this  time  had  been  asking  Mrs.  Gregory  if  her 
mother  was  well,  if  Simon  Jefferson  was  no  worse, 
if  Fran  was  hearty,  if  Grace  Noir  was  at  home  — 
"  and  private  business." 

Abbott  looked  warningly  at  his  friend  to  remind 
him  of  his  promise  not  to  utter  a  word.  Robert, 
remembering,  tightly  compressed  his  lips,  and 
marched  over  to  the  piano.  He  leaned  upon  it 
heavily. 


JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES  293 

"  I  have  no  business,"  Mr.  Gregory  exclaimed,  in 
fear,  "  that  my  wife  need  not  know." 

"  This  is  — "  cried  Robert.  Then  remembering, 
he  struck  the  keys  a  resounding  chord. 

Mrs.  Gregory  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

"  No,  no ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Gregory,  starting  to 
the  door  to  intercept  her,  "  I  want  you  to  stay. 
I'll  have  no  secrets  from  you,  Lucy.  I  want  you 
to  hear  what  these  gentlemen  have  to  say."  He 
glared  at  Abbott  as  if  daring  him  to  speak  the  words 
that  must  destroy  his  wife's  last  feeble  hold  on  her 
position. 

"  I  hope  Mrs-.  Gregory  will  excuse  us,"  said  Ab 
bott,  smiling  at  her  as  cheerfully  as  he  could,  "  but 
she  knows  that  there  are  matters  of  business  that 
women  don't  understand,  or  care  to  learn.  This  is 
something  that  relates  merely  to  you,  Mr.  Gregory, 
and  ourselves." 

"Of  course  I  understand  you,  Abbott,"  said  Mrs. 
Gregory  gently,  "  and  Mr.  Gregory  is  wrong  to  in 
sist  on  my  interrupting  —  women  are  always  in  the 
way  — "  She  smiled,  and,  slipping  around  Gregory, 
had  reached  the  door,  when  she  came  face  to  face 
with  Grace  Noir,  entering.  At  sight  of  her — for 
Grace  did  not  pause,  but  went  over  to  the  piano  — 


294  FRAN 

Mrs.  Gregory  apparently  reconsidered,  and  stepped 
to  her  husband's  side. 

"  So  you  did  come,"  Grace  said,  smiling  at  Rob 
ert.  "  Shall  we  go  into  the  other  room?  " 

Robert  reveled  in  her  beauty,  and  to  that  extent 
his  anger  against  Gregory  flamed  higher.  "  Pretty 
soon,"  he  said,  "pretty  soon,  Miss  Grace  —  in  just 
twenty  minutes — "  he  looked  at  his  watch,  then  at 
Abbott. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  Mr.  Gregory,"  Abbott  began 
rapidly,  "  that  I  had  just  thirty  minutes  to  consum 
mate  the  matter  with  you, —  just  half  an  hour,  when 
we  came  here,  and  ten  minutes  are  already  gone. 
Only  twenty  minutes  are  left." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  your  twenty  minutes 
being  left?"  Gregory  blustered. 

Abbott  spoke  carefully,  at  the  same  time  drawing 
a  little  farther  away  from  the  man  he  despised : 
"  Bob  has  been  to  Springfield  about  that  matter,  you 
understand." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  cried  Gregory.     "  Or  if  I  do  - 
tell  it  out  —  all  of  it." 

"  He  has  been  to  Springfield,"  Abbott  went  on, 
"  and  he  got  on  the  inside  of  the  business,  and  the 
interests  are  determined  that  —  that  they  will  re- 


JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES  295 

taliate  on  you  for  your  successes  in  the  past,  and 
at  the  same  time  be  a  help  to  Bob." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  Gregory  gasped  blankly. 

"  Me  neither,"  muttered  Robert. 

"  It's  very  simple,"  Abbott  maintained.  "  The 
Springfield  interests,  want  to  give  you  a  blow,  and 
give  Bob  a  helping  hand.  Therefore,  you  are  to 
transfer  your  secretary  to  his  store,  where  a  book 
keeper  is  needed." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  interposed  Grace  Noir  icily.  "  I 
am  a  mere  pawn,  I  presume,  to  be  sent  where  I  am 
wanted.  But  I  would  like  to  ask  Mr.  Clinton  if  he 
found  out  anything  about  Fran,  while  he  was  in 
Springfield?" 

"  Fran  is  all  she  claims  to  be,"  Robert  declared 
bluntly. 

"All?     You  can  prove  she's  no  fraud?" 

"  My  pockets  are  full  of  proofs,"  Robert  ex 
claimed,  looking  significantly  at  Gregory. 

"Dear  Fran!"  murmured  Mrs.  Gregory  with  a 
sweet  smile  of  reminiscence. 

"  Abbott,"  Mr.  Gregory  gasped,  as  he  began  to 
realize  the  compromise  that  was  offered,  "  you  have 
always  been  my  friend  —  and  you  have  been  inter 
ested  in  my  charities  —  you  know  how  important 


296  FRAN 

my  secretary  is  to  my  work.  It  is  true  that  I  did 
wrong,  years  ago  —  very  wrong  —  it  is  true  that  I 
bitterly  —  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  antagonized  the  in 
terests  at  Springfield.  But  that  was  so  long  ago. 
Am  I  to  be  punished  now  — ' 

"  Mr.  Gregory,"  said  Abbott,  clearly  and  forcibly, 
"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  punishment,  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  demanding  the  release  of  your 
secretary.  I  am  a  mere  agent  of  the  interests,  sent 
to  you  to  demand  that  your  secretary  be  dismissed  in 
the  morning;  and  if  you  can  not  see  your  way  to 
promise  me  now  that  you  will  dismiss  her,  my  office 
is  ended.  If  you  can  promise  to  send  her  away,  I 
give  you  my  word  the  transactions  shall  be  for  ever 
hushed  up,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned.  If  you  can 
not  promise,  all  will  be  revealed  at  once." 

"  In  just  ten  minutes,"  said  Robert  Clinton,  con 
sulting  his  watch. 

Grace  stood  looking  at  Gregory  as  if  turned  to 
stone.  She  had  listened  intently  to  every  word  as  it 
fell  from  Abbott's  lips,  but  not  once  had  she  turned 
her  head  to  look  at  him. 

"  You  are  cruel,"  Gregory  flared  out,  "  you  are 
heartless.  If  I  send  away  the  only  one  who  is  in 
perfect  knowledge  and  sympathy  with  my  work  - 


JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES  297 

"  Then  you  refuse?  " 

"  Of  course  I  refuse.  I'll  not  permit  the  work 
of  years  to  perish  because  of  an  unreasonable  and 
preposterous  demand.  You  wouldn't  exchange 
your  position  here  for  Bob's  grocery,  would  you, 
Miss  Grace  ?  "  he  ended  appealingly. 

"Yes  —  if  you  dismiss  me,"  Grace  answered, 
her  eyes  smoldering. 

"  Lucy  " —  Gregory  was  almost  beside  himself 
— "  tell  her  she  must  stay  —  tell  these  men  we  can 
not  go  on  with  our  work,  without  her." 

Not  for  worlds  would  Mrs.  Gregory  have  be 
trayed  eagerness  for  Grace  to  go,  but  for  no  consid 
eration  would  she  have  asked  her  to  stay.  "  Mr. 
Gregory,"  she  responded,  "  I  can  not  conceive  of 
your  being  in  the  power  of  business  interests  to  such 
an  extent  as  to  drive  you  to  do  anything  that  seems 
like  taking  your  heart's  blood." 

"I  refuse!"  cried  Gregory,  again.  "Of  course 
I  refuse." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Abbott,  turning. 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  Gregory  asked 
shrinkingly. 

"  I  shall  go  now ;  my  endeavor  to  straighten  out 
things  —  or  rather  to  keep  everything  peaceful  and 


298  FRAN 

forgotten  —  comes    to    nothing,    it    seems.     Good 
evening,  Mrs.  Gregory." 

"  But  wait !     Wait !     Let  us  discuss  this  alone  — " 
"  It  is  useless  now,  for  the  time  has  expired." 
"  That's  right,"  Clinton  confirmed;  clicking  to  his 
watch. 

"  And  all  of  it  is  going  to  be  told  ?    Everything?  " 
"  Unless  you  will  dismiss  your  secretary." 
"  But  you  insult  Miss  Grace  to  speak  in  that  way. 
Good  heavens,  Abbott,  what  are  you  doing?     How 
can  you  insult  that  —  the  best  woman  in  the  world  ?  " 
There  was  a  moment's  silence.     Then  Mrs.  Greg 
ory  turned  to  her  husband  and  said  quietly,  "If 
Miss  Noir  is  the  best  woman  in  the  world,  you 
should  be  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  say  so." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  "  Every 
body  has  turned  against  me,"  he  complained.  "  I 
am  the  most  miserable  man  on  earth  because  for 
mere  caprice,  for  mere  spite,  for  no  earthly  good,  it 
is  the  determination  of  people  who  have  lost  posi 
tions  and  the  like,  to  drive  me  wild." 

Robert  Clinton  thumped  the  keys  of  the  piano 
with  one  hand. 

"  Why,  hello,  Mr.  Bob !  "  cried  Fran,  dancing  into 


JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES  299 

the  room.  "So  you're  back,  are  you?"  She 
shook  hands  breezily. 

"  Come  back,  Abbott,  come  back ! "  called  Greg 
ory,  discovering  that  the  young  man  was  indeed 
going.  "  You  know  what  I  must  do,  if  you  drive 
me  to  the  wall.  I  am  obliged  to  do  what  you  say. 
State  the  condition  again  if  you  have  the  courage  to 
say  it  aloud." 

"The  past  will  be  forgotten,"  said  Abbott  sol 
emnly,  "  if  you  give  your  word  that  your  secretary 
.shall  go  in  the  morning." 

"  And  you'll  take  me  in  her  place,"  spoke  up  Fran 
decidedly. 

"  The  time  is  up,"  said  Clinton  harshly.  "  It's 
too  late  now,  for  I  shall  tell  — " 

"  I  promise,  I  promise !  "  Gregory  cried  out,  in  an 
agony  of  fear.  "  I  promise.  Yes,  I'll  dismiss  her. 
Yes,  she  shall  go!  Yes,  let  Fran  have  the  place." 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  dismiss  me,  Mr.  Greg 
ory?"  asked  Grace,  in  a  low  concentrated  tone, 
leaning  slightly  forward. 

Fran  turned  on  the  lights  to  their  fullest  extent, 
and  looked  about  with  an  elfish  smile. 

Hamilton  Gregory  was  mute. 


300  FRAN 

"  I  have  your  promise,"  said  Abbott,  bowing 
gravely.  "  That  is  enough." 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Gregory,  "  but  it  is  infamous." 

Fran  looked  at  Abbott  inscrutably.  "  Third 
time's  the  charm,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper.  "  I'm 
proud  of  you  this  time,  Abbott." 

Grace  turned  with  cold  dignity,  and  moved  slowly 
toward  the  hall  door. 

Fran  slipped  between  Clinton  and  the  piano,  and 
began  to  play  softly,  carelessly  with  one  hand,  while 
she  watched  the  retreating  figure. 

In  a  very  short  time,  Gregory  found  himself  alone 
in  the  parlor.  Abbott  and  Clinton  had  withdrawn 
rather  awkwardly,  Mrs.  Gregory  had  melted  away 
unobtrusively,  and  Fran,  last  of  all,  had  given  the 
piano  a  final  bang,  and  darted  out  of  the  house. 

Gregory  stood  pale  and  miserable.  It  seemed  as 
if  all  the  world  had  deserted  him.  The  future  with 
out  Grace  would  be  as  dreary  as  now  seemed  his 
past  with  Fran's  mother.  He  suffered  horribly. 
Was  suffering  all  that  life  had  left  for  him?  Per 
haps  he  was  reaping  —  but  is  there  no  end  to  the 
harvest  ?  One  sows  in  so  brief  a  time ;  is  the  garner 
ing  eternal? 

A  bell  rang,   but  he  was  not  curious.     Voices 


JUST  THIRTY  MINUTES  301 

sounded  at  the  front  door,  footsteps  passed,  then  si 
lence  once  more  —  silence  and  despair.  Gregory 
went  to  the  open  window,  and  leaned  heavily  on  the 
sill,  taking  great  breaths,  staring  dully. 

Footsteps  were  heard  again:  They  were  near  by. 
They  stopped  at  the  door  —  they  were  hers.  Greg 
ory  started  up  with  a  low  cry  of  reanimated  hope. 
Whatever  happened  —  he  was  about  to  see  Grace 
Noir  once  more. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    FIRST    VICTORY 

TT7HEN  Grace  reentered  the  parlor,  to  find  Ham 
ilton  Gregory  alone,  her  eyes  were  full  of 
reproach  without  tenderness.  He  dropped  his  head 
before  her  accusing  face,  but,  all  the  same,  he  felt 
a  buoyant  relief  because  she  was  there. 

As  she  came  straight  toward  him,  an  open  letter 
in  her  hand,  his  body  grew  erect,  and  his  brown 
eyes,  losing  their  glazed  light,  burned  from  the 
depths. 

"  Read  it,"  Grace  said,  in  a  thin  brittle  voice. 

In  taking  the  letter,  Gregory  touched  her  hand. 
With  recaptured  alertness,  he  held  the  missive  to 
the  light,  and  read: 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  NOIR  :  — 

"  This  is  to  officially  offer  you  the  position  of 
bookkeeper  at  my  grocery  store,  now  that  Hamilton 
Gregory  has  decided  to  make  Fran  his  secretary. 
Come  over  early  in  the  morning  and  everything  will 
be  arranged  to  your  satisfaction. 
I  am, 

ROBERT  CLINTON." 
302 


THE  FIRST  VICTORY  303 

Gregory  looked  up,  and  marked  the  fixedness  of 
her  gaze.  It  seemed  to  call  upon  him  to  avenge  an 
insult.  He  could  only  bluster,  "  Who  brought  this 
thing  here  ?  "  He  flung  the  note  upon  the  table. 

"  A  messenger."     Grace's  look  did  not  waver. 

"  The  impudence !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  The  af 
front!" 

"  However,"  said  Grace,  "  I  presume  it  is  final 
that  I  am  dismissed?  " 

"  But  his  unseemly  haste  in  sending  this  note  — 
it's  infamous,  that's  what  I  call  it,  infamous!  " 

"  And  you  mean  to  take  Fran  in  my  place,  do 
you  not? " 

"  You  see,"  Gregory  explained,  "  Bob  Clinton 
came  back  to  town  this  evening  from  Springfield, 
you  understand,  and  Abbott  came  with  him  —  er  — 
and  Airs.  Gregory  was  in  the  room  so  they  could 
not  speak  exactly  openly,  and  Abbott  made  the  con 
dition  —  I  can  hardly  explain  so  delicate  an  affair 
of  —  of  business  —  but  you  see,  Bob  is  evidently 
very  much  in  love  with  you,  and  he  has  it  in  his 
power  to  demand  — " 

Grace  calmly  waited  for  the  other  to  lapse  into 
uncertain  silence,  then  said,  "  This  note  tells  me 
definitely  that  I  am  offered  another  position,  but  you 


304  FRAN 

tell  me  nothing.  It  was  I  who  sent  Mr.  Clinton  to 
Springfield  to  look  into  the  private  record  of  that 
Fran." 

"  You  see,"  Gregory  explained,  "  he  was  afraid 
I  might  think  it  presumptuous  of  him  to  do  that, 
it  was  like  doubting  my  word,  so  he  came  to  me  — 
however,  he  is  back  and  there  is  nothing  to  reveal, 
absolutely  nothing  to  reveal." 

"  Is  he  sure  that  the  girl  is  no  impostor?" 

"  He  knows  she  isn't.  His  pockets  are  full  of 
proofs.  I  know  you  sent  Bob  on  my  account, 
Grace,  but  alas !  Fran  is  a  reality  —  she  can't  be  dis 
missed." 

"  It  seems  I  can  be.  But  of  course  I  am  noth- 
ing." 

"Grace!     You  are  everything." 

She  laughed.  "  Everything !  At  the  word  of  an 
Abbott  Ashton,  a  disgraced  school-teacher,  you  make 
me  less  than  nothing!  " 

He  cried  out  impetuously,  "  Shall  I  tell  you  why 
we  must  part  ?  " 

Grace  returned  with  a  somber  look,  "  So  Fran  is 
to  have  my  place !  " 

Gregory  interposed  passionately,  "  It  is  because 
I  love  you." 


THE  FIRST  VICTORY  305 

"  So  Fran  is  to  be  your  secretary!  "  she  persisted. 

"  Grace,  you  have  read  my  heart,  I  have  read 
yours;  we  thought  we  could  associate  in  safety,  after 
that  —  but  I  am  weak.  You  never  come  into  the 
room  that  I  am  not  thrilled  with  rapture.  Life 
hasn't  any  brightness  for  me  except  your  presence. 
What  can  I  do  but  protect  you  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Gregory,  Fran  hasn't  any  interest  in  your 
work." 

"I  love  you,  Grace  —  I  adore  you.  Beautiful 
darling  —  don't  you  see  you  must  go  away  because 
you  are  so  inexpressibly  precious  to  me  ?  That's  why 
I  mustn't  have  you  under  my  roof."  He  sank  upon 
his  knees  and  caught  her  hand.  "  See  me  at  your 
feet  —  should  this  thing  be  ?  " 

Grace  coldly  withdrew  her  hand.  "  In  spite  of 
all  you  say,  you  have  engaged  Fran  in  my  place." 

"  No  one  can  take  your  place,  dear." 

Grace's  voice  suddenly  vibrated :  "  You  tell  me 
you  love  me,  yet  you  agree  to  hire  that  woman,  in 
my  place  —  the  woman  I  hate,  I  tell  you;  yes,  the 
spy,  the  enemy  of  this  home." 

''  Yes,  Grace,  I  do  tell  you  that  I  love  you  — 
would  I  be  kneeling  here  worshiping  you,  other 
wise?  And  what  is  more,  you  know  that  you  love 


306  FRAN 

me  —  you  know  it.  That's  why  I  must  send  you 
away." 

"  Then  send  Fran  away,  when  you  send  me  away." 

"  Oh,  my  God,  if  I  could !  "  he  exclaimed,  starting 
up  wildly.  "  But  you  see,  it's  impossible.  I  can't 
do  that,  and  I  can't  keep  you." 

"  Why  is  it  impossible  ?  Must  you  treat  better 
the  daughter  of  an  old  college  friend,  than  the 
woman  you  say  you  love?  What  are  those  mys 
terious  Springfield  interests?" 

" —  And  you  are  the  woman  who  loves  me !  " 
Gregory  interrupted  quickly.  "  Say  it,  Grace ! 
Tell  me  you  love  me  before  you  go  away  —  just 
those  three  words  before  I  sink  back  into  my  lonely 
despair.  We  will  never  be  alone  together  in  this 
life  —  tell  me,  then,  that  you  love  me  —  let  me  hear 
those  words  from  your  beautiful  lips — " 

"  It  makes  me  laugh!  "  Grace  cried  out  in  wrath 
that  could  not  be  controlled,  "  to  hear  you  speak  of 
love  in  one  breath  and  of  Fran  in  the  next.  Maybe 
some  day  you'll  speak  both  in  the  same  breath! 
Yes,  I  will  go  and  you  can  hire  your  Fran." 

"But  won't  you  tell  me  good-by?"  he  pleaded. 
"  As  soon  as  I  have  become  complete  master  of  my 
love  for  yon,  Fran  shall  be  sent  unceremoniously 


THE  FIRST  VICTORY  307 

about  her  business.  I  fancy  Abbott  Ashton  wants 
to  marry  her  —  let  him  take  her  away.  Then  she 
will  be  gone.  Then  my  —  er  —  duty  —  to  friend 
ship  will  be  fulfilled.  And  if  you  will  come  back 
again  then,  we  might  be  happy  together,  after  all." 

She  stamped  her  foot  violently.  "  This  need  not 
be,  and  you  know  it.  You  speak  of  being  master 
of  yourself.  What  do  you  mean?  I  already  know 
you  love  me.  What  is  there  to  hide?  " 

"  But  others  would  see.  Others  would  suspect. 
Others  would  betray.  Good  heavens,  Grace,  all  my 
life  has  been  made  horribly  miserable  because  I've 
always  had  to  be  considering  what  others  would 
think  and  do !  " 

"Betray?  What  is  there  to  betray?  Nothing. 
You  are  what  you  have  always  been,  and  so  am  I. 
We  didn't  commit  a  crime  in  speaking  the  truth  for 
once  —  you  are  sending  me  away  for  ever,  and  yet 
you  try  to  temporize  on  this  eternity.  Well  —  keep 
your  Fran!  It's  fortunate  for  me  that  I  have  one 
friend."  She  snatched  up  the  open  letter,  and  hur 
ried  toward  the  door. 

"  Grace !  "  Gregory  followed  her  imploringly, 
"  not  Bob  Clinton !  Hear  me,  Grace.  If  you  ever 
marry  that  man,  I  shall  kill  myself." 


3o8  FRAN 

She  laughed  scornfully  as  she  snatched  open  the 
door. 

"  Grace,  I  tell  you  that  Fran  — " 

"  Yes !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  her  voice  trembling 
with  concentrated  anger,  "  let  that  be  the  last  word 
between  us,  for  it  is  that,  and  that  only  which  sep 
arates  us.  Yes  —  that  Fran!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  ENEMY   TRIUMPHS 

COMETIMES  the  history  of  any  household  pro 
gresses  rapidly  in  closely  related  scenes  of  ac 
tion  ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  months  pass  by  during 
which  life  has  apparently  ceased  to  act.  Every 
thing  that  had  seemed  tending  toward  catastrophe 
stopped,  as  it  were,  with  the  departure  of  Grace 
Noir.  Possibly  the  climax  was  still  ahead;  if  so, 
the  waters  were  at  present  heaped  high  on  this  side 
of  ultimate  disaster,  and  on  the  other  side,  leaving, 
between  past  and  future,  a  dry  no-thoroughfare. 

Old  Mrs.  Jefferson  would  long  ago  have  struck  a 
blow  against  Grace  Noir  had  she  not  recognized  the 
fact  that  when  one  like  Grace  wears  the  helmet  of 
beauty  and  breastplate  of  youth,  the  darts  of  the 
very  angles  of  justice,  who  are  neither  beautiful  nor 
young,  are  turned  aside.  Helplessly  Mrs.  Jeffer 
son  had  watched  and  waited  and  now,  behold !  there 
was  no  more  Dragon.  Fran  had  said  she  would  do 

309 


310  FRAN 

it  —  nothing  could  have  exceeded  the  confidence  of 
the  old  lady  in  the  new  secretary. 

Mrs.  Gregory's  sense  of  relief  was  not  so  pro 
found  as  her  mother's,  because  she  could  not  think 
of  Grace's  absence  except  as  a  reprieve.  Surely  she 
would  return  —  but  the  present  was  to  be  placidly 
enjoyed.  To  observers,  Mrs.  Gregory  appeared 
ever  placid,  not  because  of  indifference,  but,  as  it 
was  supposed,  from  blindness.  Under  the  calm  ex 
terior  of  the  wronged  wife,  there  seemed  no  smol 
dering  fire  awaiting  a  favorable  wind.  In  truth,  she 
was  always  fearing  that  people  would  discover  her 
husband's  sentimental  bearing  toward  his  secretary 
—  and  always  hoping  that  if  they  did,  they  would 
conclude  the  wife  understood  best  and  felt  no  alarm. 

In  the  meantime,  Grace  was  gone.  Mrs.  Greg 
ory's  smile  once  more  reminded  Fran  of  the  other's 
half- forgotten  youth.  When  a  board  has  laid  too 
long  on  the  ground,  one  finds,  on  its  removal,  that 
the  grass  is  withered;  all  the  same,  the  grass  feels 
the  sunshine. 

Fran  thanked  herself  that  Grace  was  no  longer 
silhouetted  against  the  horizon,  and  Gregory,  re 
marking  this  attitude  of  self-congratulation,  was 
thrown  more  than  ever  out  of  sympathy  with  his 


THE  ENEMY  TRIUMPHS  311 

daughter.  Fran  was  indefatigable  in  her  duties  as 
secretary,  but  her  father  felt  that  it  was  not  the 
same.  She  could  turn  out  an  immense  amount  of 
work  because  she  was  strong  and  playing  for  high 
stakes  —  but  she  did  not  have  Grace's  methodical 
ways  —  one  never  knew  how  Fran  would  do  any 
thing,  only  that  she  would  do  it.  Grace  was  all 
method,  but  more  than  that  she  was,  as  Gregory 
phrased  it  to  himself  —  she  was  all  Grace. 

Gregory  missed  her  every  minute  of  the  day, 
and  the  harder  Fran  tried  to  fill  her  place,  the  more 
he  resented  it.  He  divined  that  Fran  hated  the 
routine,  the  monotonous  forms  of  charity,  the  du 
plicated  copies  of  kind  acts,  the  rowrs  of  figures  rep 
resenting  so  many  unfortunates.  Instead  of  ac 
knowledging  to  himself  that  his  daughter  did  the 
work  from  a  yearning  for  his  love,  from  a  reso 
lution  to  save  him  from  the  Grace-infatuation  by 
absent  treatment,  he  perversely  rebelled  at  her  se 
cretly  rejoicing  over  a  conquered  foe.  Fran  was 
separated  from  his  sympathies  by  the  chasm  in  his 
own  soul. 

The  time  came  when  Gregory  felt  that  he  must 
see  Grace  again  and  be  alone  with  her.  At  first,  he 
had  thought  they  must  not  meet  apart  from  the 


312  FRAN 

world;  but  by  the  end  of  the  week,  he  was  wonder 
ing  what  excuse  he  could  offer  to  induce  her  to 
meet  him  —  not  at  Miss  Sapphira's,  where  she  now 
boarded,  not  at  the  grocery  where  Bob  was  always 
hovering  about  —  but  somewhere  remote,  some 
where  safe,  where  they  might  talk  about  —  but  he 
had  no  idea  of  the  conversation  that  might  ensue; 
there  was  nothing  definite  in  anything  save  his  fixed 
thought  of  being  with  her.  As  to  any  harm,  there 
could  be  none.  He  had  so  long  regarded  Grace  as 
the  best  woman  in  the  world,  that  even  after  the 
day  of  kisses,  his  mind  continued  in  its  inertia  of 
faith, —  even  the  gravitation  of  material  facts  were 
unable  to  check  its  sublime  course. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  a  July  day  that  Hamilton 
Gregory  left  his  house  resolved,  at  any  cost  — 
save  that  of  exposure  —  to  experience  once  more 
the  only  pleasure  life  held  in  reserve  for  him:  near 
ness  to  Grace  Noir.  She  might  be  at  the  store, 
since  all  shops  were  to  remain  open  late,  in  hopes 
of  reaping  sordid  advantages  from  the  gaiety  of 
mankind.  In  a  word,  Littleburg  was  in  the  grip  of 
its  first  street  fair. 

Before  going  down-town,  Gregory  strolled  cas 
ually  within  sight  of  the  Clinton  boarding-house. 


THE  ENEMY  TRIUMPHS  313 

Only  Miss  Sapphira  was  on  the  green  veranda. 
She  had  watched  the  ceaseless  streams  of  humanity 
pouring  along  either  sidewalk,  destined  for  the 
heart  of  the  small  town, —  countless  hordes,  reen- 
forced  from  rural  districts  by  excursion  trains. 
From  the  very  ground  they  seemed  to  spring,  these 
autochthones  of  confetti  and  side-shows.  On  they 
flowed,  stormy  with  horn  and  whistle  and  hideous 
balloons  whose  horrid  pipes  squealed  the  music  of 
modern  Pan;  they  overwhelmed  the  native  popula 
tion  with  elusive  tickler  and  rubber-stringed  ball; 
here  were  to  be  seen  weary  mothers  reaching  forth 
for  greater  weariness;  joy-scourged  fathers  driven 
to  the  money-changers;  frenzied  children  at  last  in 
Fairyland. 

Miss  Sapphira,  recognizing  Gregory,  waved  a 
solemn  greeting,  and  he  felt  reassured  —  for  he 
was  always  afraid  Robert  would  "  tell ".  He 
pushed  his  way  nearer.  Miss  Sapphira  sat  in  the 
huge  chair  not  as  if  unable  to  rise,  but  as  a  tangible 
rebuke  to  carnal  amusements.  She  spoke  to  Greg 
ory  on  the  subject  of  which  she  was  full  to  the  brim 
—  and  Miss  Sapphira  was  of  generous  capacity  — 

"  No  wonder  so  few  go  to  church !  " 

"Is    Miss    Noir    here?"    Gregory    asked    in    a 


314  FRAN 

strained  voice;  the  confusion  hid  the  odd  catch 
his  voice  had  suffered  in  getting  over  the  name. 

"  No.  She's  down-town  —  but  not  at  any  show, 
you  may  be  sure.  She's  left  late  at  the  store  be 
cause  —  I  guess  you've  heard  Abbott  Ashton  has 
been  away  a  long  time." 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  of  the  young  man,"  Greg 
ory  replied  stiffly. 

"  Well,  he's  been  off  two  or  three  weeks  some 
where,  nobody  knows  unless  it's  Bob,  and  Bob  won't 
tell  anything  any  more.  Abbott  wrote  he'd  be 
home  to-night,  and  Bob  drove  over  to  Simmtown 
to  meet  him  in  the  surrey,  so  Miss  Grace  is  alone 
down  there  — "  She  nodded  ponderously. 

"  Alone !  "  he  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"  Yes  —  I  look  for  Bob  and  Abbott  now  just 
any  minute."  She  added,  eying  the  crowd — "I 
saw  Fran  on  the  street,  long  and  merry  ago !  " 
Her  accent  was  that  of  condemnation.  Like  a  rock 
she  sat,  letting  the  fickle  populace  drift  by  to  min 
strel  show  and  snake  den.  The  severity  of  her 
double  chin  said  they  might  all  go  thither  —  she 
would  not ;  let  them  be  swallowed  up  by  that  gigan 
tic  serpent  whose  tail,  too  long  for  bill-board  illus 
tration,  must  needs  be  left  to  coil  in  the  imagination 


THE  ENEMY  TRIUMPHS  315 

—  but  the  world  should  see  that  Miss  Sapphira  was 
safe  from  deglutition,  either  of  frivolity  or  ana 
conda. 

That  was  also  Gregory's  point  of  view ;  and  even 
in  his  joy  at  finding  the  coast  clear,  he  paused  to 
say,  "  I  am  sorry  that  Fran  seems  to  have  lost  all 
reason  over  this  carnival  company.  If  she  would 
show  half  as  much  interest  in  her  soul's  welfare  — ': 

He  left  the  sentence  unfinished.  The  thought  of 
Grace  had  grown  supreme  —  it  seemed  to  illuminate 
some  wide  and  splendid  road  into  a  glorious  future. 

The  bookkeeper's  desk  was  in  a  gallery  near  the 
ceiling  of  the  Clinton  grocery  store;  one  looked 
thence,  through  a  picket-fence,  down  upon  the 
only  floor.  Doubtless  Grace,  thus  looking,  saw  him 
coming.  When  he  reached  her  side,  he  was  breath 
less,  partly  from  his  struggle  through  the  masses, 
principally  from  excitement  of  fancied  security. 

She  was  posting  up  the  ledger,  and  made  no  sign 
of  recognition  until  he  called  her  name. 

"  Mr.  Clinton  is  not  here,"  she  said  remotely. 
"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

He  admired  her  calm  courtesy.  If  at  the  same 
time  she  could  have  been  reserved  and  yielding  he 
would  have  found  the  impossible  combination  per- 


3i6  FRAN 

feet.  Because  it  was  impossible,  he  was  determined 
to  preserve  her  angelic  purity  in  imagination,  and 
to  restore  her  womanly  charm  to  actual  being. 

"  How  can  you  receive  me  so  coldly,"  he  said 
impulsively,  "when  I've  not  seen  you  for  weeks?" 

"  You  see  me  at  church,"  she  answered  imper 
sonally. 

"  But  I  have  been  dying  to  be  near  you,  to  talk 
to  you  - 

"  Stop !  "  she  held  up  her  hand.  "  You  should 
know  that  Mr.  Clinton  and  I  are  — " 

"  Grace !  "  he  groaned. 

She  whispered,  her  face  suddenly  growing  pale, 
"Are  engaged."  The  tete-a-tete  was  beyond  her 
supposed  strength.  His  melodious  voice,  asso 
ciated  in  her  mind  with  divine  worship ;  the  burning 
of  those  beautiful  eyes  in  which  she  seemed  to  see 
her  own  love;  the  attitude  of  his  arms  as  if,  not 
knowing  it,  he  were  reaching  out  for  her  —  all  this 
was  hard  for  her  to  resist. 

"  Engaged!  "  he  echoed,  as  if  she  had  pronounced 
one  of  the  world's  great  tragedies.  "  Then  you 
will  give  yourself  to  that  man  —  yourself,  Grace, 
that  beautiful  self  —  and  without  love?  It's  a 
crime!  Don't  commit  the  horrible  blunder  that's 


THE  ENEMY  TRIUMPHS  317 

ruined  my  life.  See  what  wretchedness  has  come 
to  me — " 

"  Then  you  think,"  very  slowly,  "  that  I  ought 
to  let  Fran  ruin  my  whole  life  because  your  wife 
has  ruined  yours?  Then  you  think  that  after  I 
have  been  driven  out  of  the  house  to  make  room 
for  Fran,  that  I  ought  to  stay  single  because  you 
married  unwisely  ?  " 

"  Grace,  don't  say  you  are  driven  out." 

"  What  do  you  call  it  ?•    A  resignation  ?  " 

"  Grace !  —  we  have*  only  a  few  moments  to  be 
alone.  For  pity's  sake,  look  at  me  kindly  and  use 
another  tone  —  a  tone  like  the  dear  days  when  you 
were  by  my  side.  .  .  .  We  may  never  be  to 
gether  again." 

She  looked  at  him  with  the  same  repellent  ex 
pression,  and  spoke  in  the  same  bitter  tone :  "  Well, 
suppose  we're  not?  You  and  that  Fran  will  be  to 
gether." 

In  his  realization  that  it  was  Fran,  and  Fran 
alone,  who  separated  them,  Gregory  passed  into  a 
state  of  anger,  to  which  his  love  added  recklessness. 
"  Grace,  hate  me  if  you  must,  but  you  shall  not  mis 
understand  me ! " 

She  laughed.     "  Please  don't  ask  me  to  under- 


3i8  FRAN 

stand  you,  Mr.  Gregory,  while  you  hide  the  only 
secret  to  your  understanding.  Don't  come  to  me 
with  pretended  liking  when  what  you  call  '  mys 
terious  business  interests  at  Springfield  '  drive  me 
from  your  door,  and  keep  Fran  at  my  desk." 

He  interposed  in  a  low  passionate  voice.  "  I 
am  resolved  that  you  should  know  everything, 
Fran  —  is  my  own  daughter." 

She  gave  no  sign  save  a  sudden  compression  of 
the  mouth;  nevertheless,  her  surprise  was  extreme. 
Her  mind  flashed  along  the  wires  of  the  past  and 
returned  illuminated  to  the  present  entanglement. 

He  thought  her  merely  stunned,  and  burst  forth : 
"  I  tell  you,  Fran  is  my  child.  Now  you  know 
why  I'm  compelled  to  do  what  she  wants.  That's 
the  secret  Bob  brought  from  Springfield.  That's 
the  secret  Abbott  Ashton  hung  over  my  head  —  the 
traitor!  after  I'd  befriended  him!  All  of  my  un 
grateful  friends  have  conspired  to  ruin  me,  to  force 
you  from  me  by  this  secret.  But  you  know  it  now, 
and  I've  escaped  its  danger.  You  know  it !  " 

"  And  does  your  wife  know?  " 

"  Would  I  tell  her,  and  not  tell  you  ?  It's  you 
I've  tried  to  shield.  I  married  Josephine  Derry, 
and  Fran  is  our  child.  You  know  Fran.  Well, 


THE  ENEMY  TRIUMPHS  319 

her  mother  was  just  like  her  —  frivolous,  caring 
only  for  things  of  the  world  —  irreligious.  And 
I  was  just  a  boy  —  a  mere  college  youth.  When 
I  realized  the  awful  mistake  I'd  made,  I  thought  it 
best  just  to  go  away  and  let  her  live  her  own  life. 
Years  after,  I  put  all  that  behind  me,  and  came  to 
Littleburg.  I  married  Mrs.  Gregory  and  I  wanted 
to  put  all  my  past  life  away  —  clear  away  —  and  live 
a  good  open  life.  Then  you  came.  Then  I  found 
out  I'd  never  known  what  love  meant.  It  means 
a  fellowship  of  souls,  love  does;  it  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  physical  man.  It  means  just  your  soul 
and  mine  .  .  .  and  it's  too  late !  " 

Grace,  with  hands  locked  upon  her  open  ledger, 
stared  straight  before  her,  as  if  turned  to  stone. 
The  little  fenced-in  box,  hanging  high  above  eager 
shoppers,  was  as  a  peaceful  haven  in  a  storm  of 
raging  noises.  From  without,  gusts  of  merriment 
shrieked  and  whistled,  while  above  them  boomed 
the  raucous  cries  of  showmen,  drowned  in  their 
turn  by  the  indefatigable  brass-band.  The  atmos 
phere  of  the  bookkeeper's  loft  was  a  wedge  of 
silence,  splitting  a  solidarity  of  tumult. 

Gregory  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  "  Do 
you  despise  me,  you  pure  angel  of  beauty?  Oh, 


320  FRAN 

eay  you  don't  utterly  despise  me.  I've  not  breathed 
this  secret  to  any  living  soul  but  you,  you  whom  I 
love  with  the  madness  of  despair.  My  heart  is 
broken.  Tell  me  what  I  can  do." 

At  last  Grace  spoke  in  a  thin  tone:  "IWhere  is 
that  woman?  " 

"Fran's  mother?" 

She  did  not  reply;  he  ought  to  know  whom  she 
meant. 

"  She  died  a  few  years  ago  —  but  I  thought  her 
dead  when  I  married  Mrs.  Gregory.  I  didn't  mean 
any  wrong  to  my  wife,  I  wanted  everything  legal, 
and  supposed  it  was.  I  thought  everything  was 
all  right  until  that  awful  night  —  when  Fran  came. 
There'd  been  no  divorce,  so  Fran  kept  the  secret 
—  not  on  my  account,  oh,  no,  no,  not  on  her  father's 
account!  She  gave  me  no  consideration.  It  .was 
on  account  of  Mrs.  Gregory." 

"Which  Mrs.  Gregory?" 

"  You  know  —  Mrs.   Gregory." 

"Can  you  believe  that?"  Grace  asked,  with  a 
chilled  smile.  "  You  believe  Fran  really  cares  for 
your  wife?  You  think  any  daughter  could  care 
for  the  woman  who  has  stolen  her  mother's  right 
ful  place?" 


THE  ENEMY  TRIUMPHS  321 

"But  Fran  won't  have  the  truth  declared;  if  it 
weren't  for  her,  Bob  would  have  told  you  long 
ago." 

"  Suppose  I  were  in  Fran's  place  —  would  I  have 
kept  the  secret  to  spare  man  or  woman?  No! 
Fran  doesn't  care  a  penny  for  your  wife.  She 
couldn't.  It  would  be  monstrous  —  unnatural.  But 
she's  always  hated  me.  That's  why  she  acts  as 
she  does  —  to  triumph  over  me.  I  see  it  all.  That 
is  the  reason  she  won't  have  the  truth  declared  — 
she  doesn't  want  me  to  know  that  you  are  —  are 
free." 

Grace  started  up  from  the  desk,  her  face  deathly 
white.  She  was  tottering,  but  when  Gregory  would 
have  leaped  to  her  side,  she  whispered,  "  They 
would  see  us."  Suddenly  her  face  became  crim 
son.  He  caught  his  breath,  speechless  before  her 
imperial  loveliness. 

"  Mr.  Gregory !  "  her  eyes  were  burning  into  his, 
"  have  you  told  me  all  the  secret  ?  " 

"Yes  — all." 

"  Then  Mr.   Clinton  deceived  me !  " 

"  He  agreed  to  hide  everything,  if  I'd  send  you 
away." 

"  Oh,  I  see!     So  even  he  is  one  of  Fran's  allies. 


322  FRAN 

Never  mind  —  did  you  say  that  when  you  married 
the  second  time,  your  first  wife  was  living,  and  had 
never  been  divorced?  " 

"  But  Grace  —  dear  Grace !  I  thought  it  all 
right.  I  believed  — " 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  "  Then  she  is  not 
your  wife,"  she  said  in  a  low  whisper. 

"She  believes—" 

"  She  believes ! "  Her  voice  rose  scornfully. 
"  And  so  that  is  the  fact  Fran  wanted  hidden ;  you 
are  not  really  bound  to  Mrs.  Gregory." 

"  Not  legally  —  but  — " 

"  In  what  way,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  no  regular  way  —  I  mean  —  but  don't 
you  see,  there  could  be  no  marriage  now  to  make  it 
binding,  without  telling  her — " 

"  You  are  not  bound  at  all,"  Grace  interrupted. 
"  You  are  free  —  as  free  as  air  —  as  free  as  I  am. 
Are  you  determined  not  to  understand  me?  Since 
you  are  free,  there  is  no  obstacle,  in  Heaven  or  on 
earth,  to  your  wishes." 

His  passage  from  despair  to  sudden  hope  was  so 
violent  that  he  grasped  the  desk  for  support. 
"  What  ?  —  Then  ?  —  You  —  you  —  Grace,  would 
you  —  But  — " 


THE  ENEMY  TRIUMPHS  323 

"  You  are  free,"  said  Grace,  "  and  since  Mr. 
Clinton's  treachery,  I  do  not  consider  myself 
bound." 

"  Grace !  "  he  cried  wildly,  "  Grace  —  star  of  my 
soul  —  go  with  me,  go  with  me,  fly  with  me  in 
a  week  —  darling.  Let  us  arrange  it  for  to-mor 
row." 

"  No.  I  will  not  go  with  you,  unless  you  take 
me  now." 

"Now?     Immediately?"  he  gasped,  bewildered. 

"  Without  once  turning  back,"  she  returned. 
"  There's  a  train  in  something  like  an  hour." 

"  For  ever?  "  He  was  delirious.  "  And  you  are 
to  be  mine  —  Grace,  you  are  to  be  mine  —  my  very 
own ! " 

"  Yes.     But  you  are  never  to  see  Fran  again." 

"  Do  I  want  to  see  her  again?  But  Grace,  if  we 
stay  here  until  train-time,  Bob  will  come  and  —  er 
—  and  find  us  —  I  don't  want  to  meet  Bob." 

"  Then  let  us  go.  There  are  such  crowds  on 
the  streets  that  we  can  easily  lose  ourselves." 

"  Bob  will  hunt  for  you,  Grace,  if  he  gets  back 
with  Abbott  before  our  train  leaves.  Miss  Sap- 
phira  said  she  was  looking  for  him  any  minute,  and 
that  was  a  good  while  ago." 


324  FRAN 

"  If  you  can't  keep  him  from  finding  me,"  Grace 
said,  "  let  him  find.  I  do  not  consider  that  I  am 
acting  in  the  wrong.  When  people  are  not  bound, 
they  are  free;  and  if  they  are  free,  they  have  the 
right  to  be  happy,  if  at  the  same  time,  while  being 
happy  together,  they  can  be  doing  good." 

"  Still,"  said  Gregory,  looking  over  the  railing, 
"  you  know  it  would  look  —  it  would  look  bad, 
darling." 

"  This  is  the  beginning  of  our  lives,"  she  said, 
with  sudden  joy. 

"  And  if  Bob  sees  me  with  you,  Grace,  after  what 
he  knows,  you  can  guess  that  something  very  un 
pleasant  would  — 

Grace  drew  back,  to  look  searchingly  into  his 
face.  "  Mr.  Gregory,"  she  said  slowly,  "  you  make 
difficulties." 

He  met  her  eyes,  and  his  blood  danced.  "  I  make 
difficulties  ?  No !  Grace,  you  have  made  me  the 
happiest  man  in  the  world.  Yes,  our  lives  begin 
with  this  night  —  our  real  lives.  Grace,  you're  the 
best  woman  that  ever  lived !  " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FLIGHT 

'  I  NO  reach  the  station,  they  must  either  penetrate 
the  heart  of  the  town,  or  follow  the  dark 
streets  of  the  outskirts.  In  the  latter  case,  their 
association  would  arouse  surprise  and  comment,  but 
in  the  throng,  reasonable  safety  might  be  expected. 
Once  in  the  station,  they  might  hope  to  pass  the 
hour  of  waiting  in  obscurity,  since  that  was  the  last 
place  that  a  search  would  be  made. 

After  the  first  intense  moment  of  exaltation,  both 
began  to  fear  a  possible  search.  Grace  apparently 
dreaded  discovery  as  shrinkingly  as  if  her  con 
science  were  not  clear,  and  Gregory,  in  the  midst 
of  his  own  perturbation,  found  it  incongruous  that 
she  who  was  always  right,  wanted  to  hide.  As 
they  breasted  the  billows  of  jollity  which  in  its  vocal 
stress  became  almost  materialized,  there  grew  up 
within  him  a  feeling  uneasily  akin  to  the  shame 
of  his  past.  Old  days  seemed  rising  from  their 

325 


326  FRAN 

graves  to  chill  him  with  their  ghastly  show  of  skel 
etons  of  dead  delights. 

But  Grace's  hand  was  upon  his  arm,  and  the 
crowd  pressed  them  close  together  —  and  she  was 
always  beautiful  and  divinely  formed.  The  pros 
pect  of  complete  possession  filled  him  with  ecstasy, 
while  Grace  herself  yielded  to  the  love  that  had  out 
grown  all  other  principles  of  conduct. 

Grace  could  deceive  herself  about  this  love,  could 
reassure  her  conscience  with  specious  logic,  but  she 
never  lost  her  coolness  of  judgment  concerning 
Hamilton  Gregory.  His  lapses  from  convention 
ality  did  not  come  from  deliberate  choice,  and  she 
realized  the  danger  of  letting  his  feverish  impulse 
grow  cold.  Even  the  prospect  of  waiting  one  hour 
at  the  station  frightened  her.  She  must  save  him 
from  that  Fran  who,  it  appeared,  was  his  daughter 
—  and  from  the  worldly  woman  who  was  not  his 
wife  —  and  he  must  be  saved  at  once,  or  the  happi 
ness  of  their  lives  would  suffer  shipwreck. 

They  gained  the  street  before  the  court-house 
which  by  courtesy  passed  under  the  name  of  "  the 
city  square  ".  Grace's  hand  grew  tense  on  Greg 
ory's  arm  — "  Look !  " 

Her  whisper  was  lost  in  the  wind,  but  Gregory, 


FLIGHT  327 

following  her  frightened  glance,  saw  Robert  Clin 
ton  elbowing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  forcing  his 
progress  bluntly,  or  jovially,  according  to  the  na 
ture  of  obstruction.  He  did  not  see  them  and,  by 
dodging,  they  escaped. 

The  nearness  of  danger  had  paled  Grace's  cheeks. 
Gregory  accepted  his  own  trembling  as  natural,  but 
Grace's  evident  fear  acted  upon  his  nebulous  state 
of  mind  in  a  way  to  condense  jumbled  emotions 
and  deceptive  longings  into  something  like  real 
thought.  If  they  were  in  the  right,  why  did  they 
feel  such  expansive  relief  when  the  crowd  swept 
them  from  the  sidewalk  to  bear  them  far  away  from 
Robert  Clinton? 

The  merry-go-round,  its  very  music  traveling  in 
a  circle,  clashed  its  steam-whistlings  and  organ- 
wailings  against  a  drum-and-trombone  band,  while 
these  distinct  strata  of  sound  were  cut  across  by  an 
outcropping  of  graphophones  and  megaphones. 
Upon  an  open-air  platform,  a  minstrel  troupe,  by 
dint  of  falsetto  inarticulateness,  futile  banjoes,  and 
convulsive  dancing,  demonstrated  how  little  of  art 
one  might  obtain  for  a  dime.  Always  out  of  sym 
pathy  with  such  displays,  but  now  more  than  ever 
repelled  by  them,  Grace  and  Gregory  hurried  away 


328  FRAN 

to  find  themselves  penned  in  a  court,  surrounded 
on  all  sides  by  strident  cries  of  "  barkers  ",  cracking 
reports  from  target-practice,  fusillades  at  the  "  doll- 
babies  ",  clanging  jars  from  strength-testers  and  the 
like;  while  from  this  horrid  field  of  misguided 
energy,  there  was  no  outlet  save  the  narrow  entrance 
they  had  unwittingly  used. 

"Horrible!"  exclaimed  Grace,  half -stumbling 
over  the  tent-ropes  that  entangled  the  ground. 
"  We  must  get  out  of  this." 

It  was  not  easy  to  turn  about,  so  dense  was  the 
crowd. 

Scarcely  had  they  accomplished  the  manceuver 
when  Grace  exclaimed  below  her  breath,  "  There  he 
is!" 

Sure  enough,  Robert  Clinton  stood  at  the  nar 
rowest  point  of  their  way.  He  was  clinging  to  an 
upright,  and  while  thus  lifted  above  the  heads  of 
the  multitude,  sought  to  scan  every  face. 

"  I  don't  think  he  has  seen  us,"  muttered  Hamil 
ton  Gregory,  instinctively  lowering  his  head. 

"  We  can't  get  out,  now,"  Grace  lamented.  "  No, 
he  hasn't  seen  us  —  yet.  But  that's  the  only  place 
of  —  of  escape  —  and  he  keeps  looking  so  curiously 


FLIGHT  329 

—  he  must  have  been  to  the  store.  He  knows 
I'm  away.  He  may  have  gone  to  the  house." 

It  was  because  every  side-show  of  the  carnival 
company  had  insisted  on  occupying  space  around 
the  court-house,  and  because  this  space  was  meager, 
that  the  country  folk  and  excursionists  and  towns 
men  showed  in  such  compressed  numbers  at  every 
turn.  In  reality,  however,  they  were  by  no  means 
countless;  and  if  Robert's  eagle  glance  continued 
to  travel  from  face  to  face,  with  that  maddening 
thoroughness  — 

"  We'd  better  separate,"  Gregory  hoarsely  whis 
pered.  "  We'll  meet  at  the  station." 

"No.  If  he  sees  us,  what  would  be  the  use? 
Anyway,  he'll  have  to  know  to-morrow  .  .  . 
everybody  will  know  —  to-morrow!  No,"  said 
Grace,  overcoming  a  slight  indecision,  "  the  impor 
tant  thing  is  not  to  be  stopped,  whoever  sees.  Come 
this  way." 

"  But  there's  no  chance  out,  that  way,"  Gregory 
returned,  with  the  obstinacy  of  the  weak.  "  And 
if  he  does  see  us,  it  won't  do  to  be  seeming  to  try 
to  hide." 

"  But    we    are    hiding,"    Grace    said    definitely. 


330  FRAN 

"  Possibly  we  can  keep  moving  about,  and  he  will 
go  away." 

"Why  should  we  hide,  anyhow?"  demanded 
Gregory,  with  sudden  show  of  spirit. 

To  that,  she  made  no  reply.  If  he  didn't  know, 
what  was  the  use  to  tell  him  ? 

Gregory  moved  on,  but  glanced  back  over  his 
shoulder.  "  Now,  he's  getting  down,"  he  said  in 
agitation.  "  He's  making  his  way  right  toward  us. 
.  .  .  All  right,  let  him  come !  " 

"  In  here  —  quick !  "  cried  Grace,  dragging  him 
to  one  side.  "Quick!" 

A  voice  stopped  them  with,  "  Your  tickets, 
please." 

"  Oh,  no,"  wailed  Gregory,  "  not  into  a  show, 
Grace.  We  can't  go  into  a  show.  It's  —  it's  im 
possible." 

She  spoke  rapidly :  "  We  must.  We'll  be  safe 
in  there,  because  no  one  would  ever  suppose  we'd 
go  into  such  a  place." 

"  But  Grace,"  said  Gregory  firmly,  "  I  can  not  — 
I  will  not  go  into  a  show." 

The  voice  addressed  them  again :  "  It's  first- 
class  in  every  particular,  lady.  There  is  nothing 
here  to  bring  the  blush  of  shame  to  the  cheek  of 


FLIGHT  331 

the  most  fastidious.  See  those  fierce  man-eating 
lions  that  have  been  captured  in  the  remotest 
jungles  of  Africa — " 

Gregory  looked  back. 

Robert  Clinton  was  drawing  nearer.  As  yet  he 
had  not  discovered  them  but  his  eyes,  grown  fiercer 
and  more  impatient,  were  never  at  rest. 

With  a  groan,  Gregory  thrust  some  money  into 
the  showman's  hand,  and  he  and  Grace  mingled 
with  the  noisy  sight-seers  flocking  under  the  black 
tent. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    STREET    FAIR 

T  ITTLEBURG  was  trembling  under  the  fearful 
din  of  a  carnival  too  big  for  it,  when  Abbott 
Ashton,  after  his  weeks  of  absence  returned  to 
find  himself  at  Hamilton  Gregory's  door.  He  dis 
covered  old  Mrs.  Jefferson  in  the  front  room  —  this 
July  night  —  because  old  age  is  on  no  friendly  terms 
with  falling  dew;  but  every  window  was  open. 

"  Come  in,"  she  cried,  delighted  at  sight  of  his 
handsome  smiling  face  —  he  had  been  smiling 
most  of  the  time  during  his  drive  from  Simmtown 
with  Robert  Clinton.  "  Here  I  sit  by  the  window, 
where  sometimes  I  imagine  I  hear  a  faint  far-away 
sound.  I  judge  it's  from  some  carnival  band. 
Take  this  chair  and  listen  attentively;  your  ears 
are  younger  —  now !  " 

Abbott  did  not  get  all  of  this  because  of  the 
Gargantuan  roar  that  swept  through  the  window, 
but  he  gravely  tilted  his  head,  then  took  the  prof- 

332 


THE  STREET  FAIR  333 

fered  ear-trumpet :  "  You  are  right,"  he  said,  "  I 
hear  something." 

"  It's  the  street  fair,"  she  announced  trium 
phantly.  "  But  sometimes  it's  louder.  How  fine 
you  look,  Abbott  —  just  as  if  your  conscience 
doesn't  hurt  you  for  disappearing  without  leaving 
a  clue  to  the  mystery.  You  needn't  be  looking 
around,  sir, —  Fran  isn't  here." 

"I  wonder  where  she  is?"  Abbott  smiled. 
"  I'm  dreadfully  impatient  to  tell  her  the  good 
news.  Mrs.  Jefferson,  I'm  to  teach  in  a  college  — 
it's  a  much  bigger  thing  than  the  position  I  lost 
here.  And  I  have  a  chance  to  work  out  some  ideas 
that  I  know  Fran  will  like.  I  used  to  think  that 
everything  ought  to  be  left  precisely  as  it  is,  be 
cause  it's  been  that  way  so  long  —  I  mean  the 
church ;  and  schools ;  and  —  and  society.  But  I've 
made  up  my  mind  that  nothing  is  right,  unless  it 
works  right." 

Mrs.  Jefferson  listened  in  desperate  eagerness. 
"  A  watch  ?  "  she  hazarded. 

"  Exactly,"  he  responded  hastily.  "  If  a  watch 
doesn't  run,  what's  the  use  of  its  being  pretty? 
And  if  churches  develop  a  gift  of  tongue  instead 
of  character,  what's  the  value  of  their  prayers  and 


334  FRAN 

songs?  And  I've  concluded  that  if  schools  don't 
teach  us  how  to  live,  they  have  the  wrong  kind  of 
springs  and  wheels.  Where  is  Fran,  Mrs.  Jeffer 
son?" 

"  Still,"  she  temporized,  "  we  can't  get  along 
without  watches,  Abbott." 

"  No,  nor  schools,  nor  churches.  But  they  must 
have  good  works.  Is  Fran  down  at  the  fair,  do 
you  think  ?  " 

The  other  bent  toward  him  stealthily.  "  Ask 
where  Mrs.  Gregory  is,"  she  said,  wonderfully  sig 
nificant 

"Well?" 

"Abbott,  listen:  she's  gone  a-visiting!" 

"Visiting!"     Abbott  was  surprised. 

"  Yes,  visiting,  she  that  hasn't  been  off  this  place 
to  visit  a  soul  for  ages.  I  tell  you,  boy,  times  have 
changed,  here.  Maybe  you  think  nobody'd  be  left 
at  home  to  visit;  but  Fran  has  found  that  there  is 
a  woman  in  town  that  she  used  to  know,  and  the 
woman  has  a  mighty  sick  child,  and  Lucy  has  gone 
to  sit  by  it,  so  the  mother  can  rest.  Think  of  that, 
Abbott,  think  of  Lucy  going  anywhere.  My! 
Have  you  heard  that  we've  lost  a  secretary  at  this 
place?  I  mean  the  future  Mrs.  Bob.  Yes,  she's 


THE  STREET  FAIR  335 

gone.  I'd  as  soon  have  thought  of  the  court-house 
being  picked  up  and  set  in  the  parlor." 

Mrs.  Jefferson  drew  back  and  said  succinctly, 
"Fran  did  it!" 

Her  cap  quivered  as  she  leaned  forward  again. 
"  Get  her  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  We  darsen't 
speak  about  it  much  because  of  the  neighbors.  We 
conspired,  Fran  and  I.  Yes,  she's  down  at  the  car 
nival,  you  boy!  " 

Abbott  hastily  departed.  Later  he  found  him 
self  in  a  cloud-burst  of  confetti,  on  the  "  city 
square  "  and  when  he  had  cleared  his  eyes  of  the 
red  and  white  snow,  he  saw  Fran  disappearing  like 
a  bit  of  crimson  glass  at  the  bottom  of  a  human 
kaleidoscope.  Fran  had  thrown  the  confetti,  then 
fled  —  how  much  brighter  she  was  than  all  the 
other  shifting  units  of  humanity. 

He  fought  his  way  toward  her  determinedly, 
finding  she  was  about  to  be  submerged.  Was  she 
actually  trying  to  elude  him? 

"Fran!"  he  cried  reproachfully  as  he  reached 
her  side.  "  How  have  you  the  heart  to  run  away 
from  me  after  I've  been  lost  for  weeks?  Nobody 
knew  I'd  ever  be  found." 

Fran  gave  up  flight,  and  stopped  to  look  at  him. 


336  FRAN 

A  smile  slipped  from  the  corner  of  one  eye,  to  get 
caught  at  the  corner  of  her  demure  mouth.  "  When, 
you  disappeared,  you  left  me  yourself.  A  friend 
always  does.  I've  had  you  all  the  time." 

Abbott  glowed.  "  Still,  it  isn't  exactly  the  same 
as  if  I  had  been  able  to  touch  your  hand.  Sup 
pose  we  shake  hands,  little  friend;  what  do  you 
say?" 

"I  don't  say  anything,"  Fran  retorted;  "I  just 
shake." 

Her  handclasp  was  so  hearty  that  he  was  slightly 
disconcerted.  Was  her  friendship  so  great  that  it 
left  no  room  in  her  heart  for  something  greater? 
Fran's  emotions  must  not  be  compressed  under  a 
friendship-monopoly,  but  just  now  he  hardly  saw 
his  way  toward  fighting  such  a  trust. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Fran,  talk  and  talk,  oh, 
just  about  all  the  long  night  through!  Come,  let 
me  take  you  back  home  — 

"Home?  Me?  Ridiculous!  But  I'll  tell  you 
the  best  place  that  ever  was,  for  the  kind  of  talking 
you  and  I  want  to  do  to  each  other.  Abbott,  it 
won't  matter  to  you  —  will  it?  —  at  what  place  I 
say  to  meet  me,  at  about  half-past  nine?  " 

"Why,   Fran!     It's   not  eight   o'clock,"   Abbott 


THE  STREET  FAIR  337 

remonstrated,  glancing  toward  the  court-house  clock 
to  find  it  stopped,  and  then  consulting  his  watch. 
"  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  wait  till  — " 

"  Till  half-past  nine,"  said  Fran,  nonchalantly. 
"  Very  well,  then." 

"  But  what  will  we  do  in  the  meantime,  if  we're 
not  to  talk  till  — " 

"  We? "  she  mocked  him.  "  Listen,  Abbott, 
don't  look  so  cross.  I've  a  friend  in  town  with  a 
sick  daughter,  and  she's  a  real  friend  so  I  must  go 
to  help  her,  a  while." 

He  was  both  mystified  and  disappointed.  "  I 
didn't  know  you  had  any  such  friends  in  Little- 
burg,"  he  remonstrated,  remembering  how  unkind 
tongues  had  set  the  village  against  her. 

Fran  threw  back  her  head,  and  her  gesture  was 
full  of  pride  and  confidence.  "  Oh !  "  she  cried, 
"  the  town  is  full  of  my  friends." 

He  could  only  stare  at  her  in  dumb  amazement. 

"  All  right,  then,"  she  said  with  the  greatest 
cheerfulness,  "at  half-past  nine.  You  understand 
the  date  —  nine-thirty.  Of  course  you  wouldn't 
have  me  desert  a  friend  in  trouble.  Where  shall 
we  meet,  Abbott  —  at  nine-thirty  ?  Shall  we  say, 

at  the  Snake-Eater's  ?  " 

i 


338  FRAN" 

"  No.  We  shall  not  say  at  the  Snake-Eater's. 
Fran,  I  want  you  right  now.  I  know  nothing  of 
this  sick  friend,  but  I  need  you  more  than  any 
body  else  in  the  world  could  possibly  need  you." 

Fran  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes  looked  at  him 
unfaltering.  She  flashed  up  out  of  the  black  con 
tinuity  of  the  throng  like  a  ray  of  light  glancing 
along  the  surface  of  the  sea.  It  needed  no  sun  in 
the  sky  to  make  Fran-beams. 

"  Go,  Fran,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I'll  wait  for  you 
as  long  as  I  must,  even  if  it's  the  eternity  of  nine- 
thirty;  and  I'd  go  anywhere  in  the  world  to  meet 
you,  even  to  the  den  of  the  Snake-Eater." 

"  That's  the  way  for  a  friend  to  talk !  "  she  de 
clared,  suddenly  radiant  —  a  full  Fran-sun,  now, 
instead  of  the  slender  penetrating  Fran-beam. 

Seeing  a  leg-lined  lane  opening  before  her,  she 
darted  forward. 

Abbott  called  — "  But  I  can't  promise  to  talk  to 
you  as  a  friend,  when  we  meet  —  I  mean,  just  as  a 
friend." 

Fran  looked  back  at  him,  still  dazzling.  "  I 
only  ask  you  to  treat  me  as  well,"  she  said  with  as 
sumed  humility,  "  as  we  are  told  we  ought  to  treat 
our  —  enemies." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    CONQUEROR 

A  FTER  the  extinguishment  of  the  Fran-beam, 
Abbott  wanted  to  be  alone,  to  meditate  on 
stellar  and  solar  brightness,  but  in  this  vociferous 
wilderness,  reflection  was  impossible.  One  could 
not  even  escape  recognition,  one  could  not  even  de 
tach  oneself  from  a  Simon  Jefferson. 

"Got  back  to  town  again,  hey?"  said  Simon. 
That  was  enough  about  Abbott;  Simon  passed  at 
once  to  a  more  interesting  theme :  "  Taken  in  the 
Lion  Show,  yet?  " 

"  I'm  just  waiting  for  nine-thirty.  ...  I 
have  an  engagement."  Futile  words,  indeed,  since 
it  was  now  only  about  eight  o'clock. 

"  You  come  with  me,  then,  I  know  all  the  ropes. 
Hey?  Oh,  yes,  I  know  mother  thinks  me  in  bed 
—  for  goodness'  sake  don't  tell  on  me,  she'd  be 
scared  to  death.  But  actually,  old  man,  this  carni 
val  is  good  for  my  heart.  'Tisn't  like  going  to 

339 


340  FRAN 

church,  one  bit.  Preaching  makes  me  feel  op 
pressed,  and  that's  what  scares  me  —  feeling  op 
pressed."  He  rubbed  his  grizzled  hair  nervously. 
"  Just  for  fear  somebody'd  go  tell,  I've  had  to 
sneak  into  all  these  shows  like  I'd  been  a  thief  in 
the  night." 

Simon  urged  Abbott  along  in  the  direction  taken, 
but  a  few  minutes  before,  by  Hamilton  Gregory 
and  Grace  Noir.  "  You  see,"  Simon  panted, 
"  when  the  girl  fell  off  the  trapeze  —  heard  about 
that,  hey?  Mother  was  overjoyed,  thinking  I'd 
missed  the  sickening  sight.  But  bless  your  soul! 
—  I  was  right  at  the  front,  hanging  on  to  the  rail 
ing,  and  I  saw  it  all.  Why,  she  pretty  near  fell  on 
me.  Her  foot  slipped  just  so—  Simon  ex 
tended  his  leg  with  some  agility. 

"  Was  she  killed  ?  "  Abbott  asked,  concealing  his 
astonishment  over  Simon's  evident  acquaintance 
with  the  black  tent  before  which  they  had  paused. 

"  Well,"  Simon  reluctantly  conceded,  "  n-n-no, 
she  wasn't  to  say  killed  —  but  dreadfully  bruised 
up,  Abbott,  very  painful.  I  saw  it  all;  this  carni 
val  has  put  new  life  into  me  —  here!  Get  your 
ticket  in  a  jiffy,  or  all  the  seats'll  be  taken.  You 
can't  stand  there  like  that  —  give  me  your  quarter, 


THE  CONQUEROR  341 

I  know  how  to  jump  in  and  get  first  place.  That 
ticket-agent  knows  me;  I've  been  in  five  times." 

From  a  high  platform  before  the  black  tent,  a 
voice  came  through  a  megaphone :  "  The  Big 
Show.  The  BIG  Show.  See  those  enormous 
lions  riding  in  baby  carriages  while  La  Gonizetti 
makes  other  lions  dance  the  fandango  to  her  violin. 
See  those — " 

"Here,  Abbott,  follow!"  called  the  breathless 
Simon  Jefferson.  "  Of  course  we'll  see  what's 
there  —  no  use  listening  to  him,  like  an  introduc 
tion  in  a  novel  of  Scott's,  telling  it  all  first.  Oh, 
you've  got  to  squeeze  your  way  in,"  he  continued, 
clenching  his  teeth  and  hurling  himself  forward, 
"  just  mash  'em  endwise  if  they  stand  gawking  in 
your  way.  You  follow  me." 

Abbott  laughed  aloud  at  Simon's  ability  as  they 
pushed  their  way  under  the  tent. 

"  Uh-huh,  now  see  that!"  groaned  Simon  re 
proachfully,  as  he  looked  about.  "  Every  seat 
taken.  I  tell  you,  you've  got  to  lift  up  your  feet 
to  get  into  this  show.  Well,  hang  on  to  the  rope 
— >  don't  let  anybody  gouge  you  out  of  standing- 
room." 

At  least  two-thirds  of  the  space  under  the  tent 


342  FRAN 

was  taken  up  by  tiers  of  seats  formed  of  thin,  and 
apparently  fragile,  blue  planks,  springy  to  the  foot 
and  deafening  to  the  ear.  From  hardened  ground 
to  fringed  tent-ceiling,  these  overlapping  rows  of 
narrow  boards  were  brimming  with  men,  women 
and  children  who,  tenacious  of  their  holdings, 
seemed  each  to  contain  in  his  pockets  the  feet  of 
him  who  sat  immediately  behind.  At  any  rate,  no 
feet  were  visible;  all  was  one  dense  mass  of  faces, 
shoulders,  women's  hats,  and  babies  held  up  for 
air. 

The  seats  faced  an  immense  cage  which  rose  al 
most  to  the  roof.  As  yet,  it  was  empty,  but 
smaller  adjoining  cages  promised  an  animated  arena 
when  the  signal  should  be  given. 

Gregory  and  Grace  Noir  had  sought  refuge  on 
the  highest  seat,  where  they  might  overlook  the 
crowd;  here,  with  heads  bent  forward  as  if  to 
avoid  the  canvas,  they  hoped  to  escape  observation. 
Thanks  to  the  influx  of  country  folk,  Littleburg 
citizens  were  rarely  to  be  seen  at  such  shows  until 
a  later  and  more  fashionable  hour.  Gregory  was 
relieved  to  find  his  topmost  plank  filled  with  stran 
gers. 

"  All  goes  well,"  he  said,  pressing  Grace's  hand. 


THE  CONQUEROR  343 

"  Nobody  will  find  out  that  we  have  been  in 
here." 

"  Watch  for  Mr.  Clinton,"  Grace  counseled  cau 
tiously.  "  If  he  comes  in,  stoop  lower." 

"  They're  all  strangers,  Grace.  Providence  is 
with  us  —  there's  Simon  Jefferson !  "  He  was  too 
amazed  to  think  of  concealment. 

"Hush!     Yes  — and  Abbott  Ashton." 

Gregory  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes. 

Into  the  tent  streamed  a  fresh  body  of  sight 
seers.  Simon,  swinging  to  the  rope  that  was 
stretched  in  front  of  the  big  cage,  grumbled  at  be 
ing  elbowed  by  weary  mothers  and  broad-chested 
farmers.  He  told  Abbott,  "  The  lions  are  the  only 
ones  that  have  plenty  of  room.  I  wish  there  was  a 
cage  for  me.  But  it's  worth  being  jammed  to  see 
La  Gonizetti  —  she's  pretty  as  they're  made  and 
she's  pretty  all  over,  and  she  don't  care  who  knows 
it.  Now  the  first  half  is  about  to  begin,  but  it's 
just  bears  and  clowns;  don't  get  fooled,  though, 
La  Gonizetti  will  come  later,  O.  K." 

The  band  entered  and  squatted  upon  blue  boxes 
in  one  corner.  Showy  red  coats  were  removed  in 
deference  to  sweltering  heat,  and  melody  presided 
in  undress.  Three  bears,  two  clowns  and  a  bicycle 


344  FRAN 

sharpened  interest  in  what  was  to  come,  whetting 
the  mind  upon  jokes  blunter  than  the  intelligence  of 
the  audience.  Even  the  band  ceased  playing 
though  that  had  not  seemed  possible;  its  depressing 
andantinos  had  not  only  subdued  the  bears,  render 
ing  them  as  harmless  as  kittens,  but  had  mourn 
fully  depressed  the  audience. 

Into  this  atmosphere  of  tamed  inertness,  sud 
denly  flashed  a  little  figure  whose  quivering  vitality 
communicated  electric  thrills.  Even  the  clowns 
moved  less  like  treadmill  horses,  as  they  took  their 
stations  at  the  smaller  cages,  waiting  to  lift  the 
gates  that  would  admit  the  restless  lions  into  the 
central  cage. 

The  form  that  had  appeared  —  one  knew  not 
whence  —  was  that  of  a  slight  woman,  dressed  in  a 
short  silk  skirt  of  blue,  and  bodice  of  white  satin. 
The  trimmings  which  ran  in  all  directions,  were 
rich  in  pendents  of  gold  and  rubies.  Above  all, 
there  was  the  alluring  mystery  of  a  crimson  mask 
which  effectually  hid  the  woman's  face. 

Simon  whispered  into  Abbott's  always  unready 
ear,  "  That  isn't  La  Gonizetti.  Wonder  what  this 
means?  La  Gonizetti  is  much  more  of  a  woman 
than  this  one,  and  she  doesn't  wear  a  mask,  or  much 


THE  CONQUEROR  515 

of  anything  else.  La  Gonizetti  doesn't  care  who 
sees  her.  Why,  this  is  nothing  but  a  mere  —  I  tell 
you  now,  if  she  ain't  on  to  her  job,  I  mean  to  have 
my  money  back."  Simon  glowered. 

Abbott  stared  in  great  perplexity.  "  Then  who 
is  she?"  he  exclaimed.  "Simon  —  doesn't  she  re 
mind  you  of  —  of  some  one  we  know  ?  " 

"  Naw.  She's  got  on  La  Gonizetti's  dress,  and 
her  voice  has  the  show-girl's  clangy-tin-panny- 
whangdoodle,  but  that's  all  /  recognize." 

Abbott  wondered  that  Simon  failed  to  notice  the 
similarity  between  the  show-girl's  movements  and 
those  of  Fran.  This  woman  had  Fran's  form. 
To  be  sure  the  voice  was  entirely  different,  but  the 
rapidity  and  decisiveness  of  action,  and  the  air  of 
authority,  were  Fran's  very  own.  However,  the 
show-girl's  hands  were  as  dark  as  an  Italian's,  while 
Fran's  were  —  well,  not  so  dark,  at  any  rate. 

Abbott's  brow  did  not  relax.  He  stood  motion 
less,  staring  at  everything  before  him  with  painful 
intentness. 

Up  near  the  roof,  Gregory  and  Grace  scarcely 
observed  the  entrance  of  the  lion-tamer.  Secured 
from  espial,  absorbed  in  each  other,  they  were  able, 
thanks  to  the  surrounding  clamor  of  voices,  to  dis- 


346  FRAN 

cuss  their  future  plans  with  some  degree  of  con 
fidence. 

Simon  told  Abbott  — "  Anyway,  no  amateur 
would  rub  up  against  those  beasts,  so  I  guess  it's 
all  right.  They  ain't  but  two  lions;  bill  says  ten; 
man  that  wrote  the  bill  was  the  other  eight,  I 
reckon." 

The  show-girl  was  fastened  in  the  central  cage. 
The  clowns  raised  the  inner  doors,  and  the  lions 
shot  from  their  cramped  quarters  swift  as  tawny 
arrows.  They  were  almost  against  the  slight  figure, 
without  seeming  to  observe  her.  For  the  fourth 
time  since  noon  they  stood  erect,  sniffing  the  air, 
their  bodies  unconfined  by  galling  timbers  and  chill 
ing  iron.  For  the  fourth  time  this  day,  they  were 
to  be  put  through  their  tricks  by  force  of  fear. 
They  hated  these  tricks,  as  they  hated  the  small 
cages  in  which  they  could  not  lash  their  tails.  They 
hated  the  "  baby  carriage  "  in  which  one  was  pres 
ently  to  sit,  while  the  other  pushed  him  over  the 
floor,  his  sullen  majesty  sport  for  the  rabble.  They 
hated  the  board  upon  which  they  must  see-saw, 
while  the  woman  stood  in  the  middle,  preserving 
equilibrium. 

But  greater  than  the  lion's  hatred,  was  their  fear 


THE  CONQUEROR  347 

of  the  woman;  and  greater  than  their  fear  of  her 
was  their  terror  of  that  long  serpent  which,  no  mat 
ter  how  far  it  might  dart  through  space,  remained 
always  in  the  woman's  hand.  They  well  knew  its 
venomous  bite,  and  as  they  slunk  from  side  to  side, 
their  eyes  were  upon  its  coiling  black  tongue. 

"  I  met  Fran  on  the  street,"  murmured  Abbott, 
as  he  watched,  unblinkingly.  "  She  said  she  was 
going  to  visit  a  sick  friend.  When  did  you  see 
Fran  last,  Simon?" 

"  Don't  know,"  Simon  said,  discouragingly. 
"  Now  they're  going  to  see-saw.  The  black-maned 
one  is  the  hardest  to  manage.  I  reckon,  one  day, 
he'll  just  naturally  jump  afoul  of  her,  and  tear  her 
to  pieces.  Look  at  him!  I  don't  believe  this  girl 
is  going  to  make  him  get  up  on  top  of  that  board. 
My!  how  he  is  showing  his  teeth  at  her.  Say! 
This  is  a  pretty  good  show,  hey?  Glad  you  came, 
uh?  Say!  Look  at  his  teeth!" 

In  truth,  the  black-maned  lion  opened  his  mouth 
to  a  frightful  extent,  making,  however,  not  the 
slightest  sound.  He  refused  to  budge. 

Abbott  shuddered. 

"  Samson !  "  cried  the  woman,  impellingly.  The 
other  lion  was  patiently  standing  on  his  end  of  the 


348  FRAN 

board,  waiting.  He  seemed  fast  asleep.  Samson, 
however,  was  wide  awake  and  every  cruel  tooth 
was  exposed  as  he  stretched  his  mouth.  In  his 
amber  eyes  was  the  glow  of  molten  copper. 

Suddenly  Samson  wheeled  about,  and  made  a 
rush  for  his  end  of  the  see-saw.  He  stepped  upon 
it.  He  was  conquered.  His  haste  to  obey,  evi 
dently  the  result  of  fear  and  hatred,  produced  a 
ripple  of  laughter.  The  other  lion,  feeling  the  sud 
den  tremor  of  Samson's  weight,  opened  his  eyes 
suddenly  and  twitched  his  tail.  He  was  not  asleep, 
after  all. 

Simon  whispered  hoarsely,  "  It's  interesting  all 
the  way  through.  A  fellow  never  knows  what's 
going  to  happen.  'Tain't  as  if  you  was  watching 
clowns,  knowing  what  the  joke's  to  be  before  they 
say  it.  To  my  mind,  lions  are  more  like  men  than 
clowns  are." 

Abbott  found  himself  intensely  nervous.  He 
longed  to  have  it  all  over,  anxious,  above  all,  to 
prove  his  fears  groundless.  Yet  how  were  so 
many  coincidences  to  be  explained  away?  Fran 
had  been  a  show-girl,  a  trainer  of  lions,  and  Abbott 
distinctly  remembered  that  she  had  spoken  of  a 
"  Samson  ".  Fran  had  just  these  movements  and 


THE  CONQUEROR  349 

this  height.  He  missed  Fran's  mellow  voice,  but 
voices  may  be  disguised;  and  the  hands  now  raised 
toward  the  audience  may  have  been  stained  dark. 
Who  was  that  "  sick  friend  "  that  Fran  had  possibly 
mentioned  only  as  an  excuse  for  escaping?  Was 
that  a  subterfuge?  And  why  this  red  mask  which, 
according  to  Simon  Jefferson,  was  an  innova 
tion  ? 

At  every  trick,  the  black-maned  lion  balked.  He 
seemed  resolved  not  to  leap  upon  the  wall-bracket; 
and,  after  attaining  that  precarious  elevation,  he 
pretended  not  to  understand  that  he  must  descend. 
His  insubordination  disquieted  the  enormous  ani 
mal  acting  the  corresponding  part.  Even  he  began 
to  pace  softly  to  and  fro  at  such  times  as  he  should 
have  remained  motionless. 

When  the  time  came  for  the  clown  to  hand  the 
woman  her  violin  he  was  afraid,  and  withdrew  his 
arm  with  marvelous  rapidity.  His  grotesque  dis 
guise  could  not  hide  his  genuine  uneasiness.  The 
members  of  the  band,  too,  played  their  notes  with 
unusual  care,  lest  the  slightest  deviation  from 
routine  work  bring  catastrophe.  Nothing  had  gone 
right  but  the  see-sawing  act;  but  of  all  this,  the 
crowd  was  ignorant. 


350  FRAN 

After  the  violin  playing — "Now,"  Simon  Jef 
ferson  announced,  gleefully,  "  there's  only  one  more 
act,  but  it's  a  corker,  let  me  tell  you  —  that's  why 
she's  resting  a  minute.  La  Gonizetti  gets  astride 
of  Samson  —  the  one  that's  mad  —  and  grabs  his 
mane,  and  pretends  to  ride  like  a  cow-boy.  Calls 
herself  a  Rongh-Rider.  Makes  Samson  get  on  top 
of  that  table,  then  she  gets  on  top  of  him." 

"  But  this  isn't  La  Gonizetti,"  Abbott  protested, 
shuddering  again. 

"  Now  you've  said  something.  That's  right. 
But  it  looks  like  she's  game  —  she'll  try  it  —  we'd 
better  stand  a  little  farther  back." 

A  hand  was  laid  upon  Abbott's  arm.  "  Abbott," 
said  the  voice  of  Robert  Clinton,  harsh  from  smoth 
ered  excitement,  "  You  went  to  Gregory's  house  — 
did  you  see  him  ?  " 

Abbott  did  not  hear.  The  refractory  lion,  know 
ing  that  his  time  had  come  to  be  ridden,  was  as 
serting  his  independence.  He  would  not  leap  upon 
the  table.  The  other  lion  stood  watching  sleepily 
to  see  if  he  would  obey. 

"That  you,  Clinton?"  Simon's  greeting  was 
tense  with  enjoyment.  "  Got  here  for  the  best  of 
it,  didn't  you !  Seems  to  me  I  saw  Gregory  some- 


THE  CONQUEROR  351 

where  not  long  ago,  but  I  wasn't  thinking  about 
him." 

"  Hercules !  "  the  masked  woman  addressed  the 
gentler  of  the  lions.  "  Go  to  your  place.  Her 
cules  —  go  to  your  place !  " 

Hercules  turned  to  his  blue  box,  and  seated  him 
self  upon  it,  leaving  his  tail  to  take  care  of  itself. 

"  Say,  Simon,"  muttered  Robert  Clinton,  "  you 
didn't  see  Miss  Grace  Noir,  did  you?" 

"  Shut  up !  "  said  Simon  desperately. 

The  show-girl  was  fiercely  addressing  the  black- 
maned  lion.  "  Now !  Now !  To  the  table !  To 
the  table !  " 

Samson  did  not  budge.  Facing  the  woman  of 
the  mask,  he  opened  his  mouth,  revealing  the  red 
cave  of  his  throat  —  past  the  ivory  sentinels  that 
not  only  stood  guard,  but  threatened,  one  could 
look  down  and  down.  This  was  no  yawn  of  wear 
iness,  but  a  sign  of  rebellion  —  a  sort  of  noiseless 
roar. 

The  trainer  retreated  to  the  farther  side  of  the 
cage,  then  made  a  forward  rush,  waving  her  whip, 
and  shouting  dangerously,  "  Up,  Samson,  up  Sam 
son,  UP ! "  She  did  not  pause  in  her  course  till 
close  to  his  face. 


352  FRAN 

Again  he  opened  his  mouth,  baring  every  tooth, 
voiceless,  but  unconquered. 

Hercules,  finding  that  affairs  had  come  to  a  halt, 
slowly  descended  from  his  box,  keeping  his  half- 
opened  eyes  upon  the  woman.  Restlessly  he  began 
to  pace  before  the  outer  door. 

The  slight  figure  withdrew  several  steps,  then 
smote  the  rebellious  lion  a  sharp  blow  across  the 
mouth.  He  snapped  viciously  at  the  lash.  It 
slipped  away  from  between  his  teeth.  Having 
rescued  her  whip,  she  shouted  to  the  other  lion, 
"  Back  to  your  place,  Hercules.  Hercules  —  back 
to  your  place !  " 

She  stood  pointing  sternly  toward  the  box,  but 
Hercules  stretched  himself  across  the  place  of  exit 
and  lay  watching  her  covertly. 

The  faces  of  the  band  boys  had  become  of  a  yel 
lowish  paleness.  They  continued  to  pound  and 
blow,  but  the  music  was  not  the  same;  a  terrible 
foreboding  brought  a  sense  of  faintness  even  to  the 
boldest. 

From  behind  the  mask  came  the  voice  so  loud 
that  it  sounded  as  a  scream  — "  Up,  Samson,  up, 
Samson  — UP!" 

Then  it  was  that  Samson  found  his  voice.     A 


THE  CONQUEROR  353 

mighty  roar  shook  the  loosely-set  bars  of  the  cen 
tral  cage  —  they  vibrated  visibly.  The  roar  did 
not  come  as  one  short  sharp  note  of  defiance;  it 
rose  and  fell,  then  rose  anew,  varying  in  the  inflec 
tions  of  the  voice  of  a  slave  who  dares  to  threaten, 
fears  even  while  he  threatens,  and  gathers  passion 
from  his  fear. 

At  that  fearful  reverberation,  the  audience 
started  up,  panic-stricken.  Hitherto,  the  last  act 
had  been  regarded  as  a  badly-played  comedy;  now 
tragedy  was  in  the  air. 

Gregory  and  Grace  Noir  at  that  instant,  became 
alive  to-  their  surroundings.  Hitherto,  despising 
the  show,  rebellious  at  the  destiny  which  had  forced 
them  to  attend  it,  they  had  been  wholly  absorbed 
in  their  efforts  to  escape  observation.  The  roar 
ing  of  the  lion  startled  them  to  a  perception  of  the 
general  alarm. 

Grace  clung  to  Gregory.  "  Oh,  save  me ! "  she 
panted  hysterically. 

The  voice  of  the  woman  behind  the  bars  rang 
throughout  the  tent  — "  Sit  down !  "  The  voice 
was  not  loud,  now,  but  singularly  penetrating. 
"  Sit  down,  all  of  you,  and  remain  absolutely  mo 
tionless,  or  I  am  lost." 


354  FRAN 

She  dared  not  remove  her  gaze  from  Samson's 
eyes ;  but  on  hearing  no  rattling  of  planks,  she  knew 
her  appeal  had  been  obeyed.  There  came  to  her, 
however,  the  smothered  cries  of  terrified  women, 
mingled,  here  and  there,  with  unrestrained  ejacu 
lations  of  dismay. 

Abbott  Ashton,  but  a  few  yards  distant,  grasped 
the  rope  with  bloodless  hands;  he  appeared  as  a 
white  statue,  seeming  not  even  to  breathe.  In  that 
moment,  Robert  Clinton  forgot  the  jealous  suspi 
cion  that  had  tortured  his  heart  since  missing  Grace 
Noir  from  her  desk. 

Grace  Noir,  her  eyes  closed,  her  cheeks  pallid, 
leaned  her  head  upon  Gregory's  shoulder,  quivering 
convulsively. 

"  There,  there,"  Gregory  whispered  in  her  ear, 
soothingly,  "  everything  will  be  all  right." 

The  masked  woman  for  the  second  time  ad 
dressed  the  terrified  audience,  still  not  venturing  to 
turn  her  head  in  their  direction :  "  Whoever 
moves,  or  speaks,  or  cries  aloud,  will  be  my  mur 
derer.  I  have  only  one  hope  left,  and  I'm  going  to 
try  it  now.  I  ask  you  people  out  there  to  give  me 
just  this  one  chance  for  my  life.  Keep  absolutely 
still." 


THE  CONQUEROR  355 

Again  Samson  uttered  his  terrible  roar.  It  alone 
was  audible.  Tier  above  tier,  faces  rose  to  the 
tent-roof,  white  and  set.  The  audience  was  like 
one  huge  block  of  stone  in  which  only  faces  have 
been  carved. 

The  penetrating  voice  addressed  the  band  boys: 
"  Don't  play.  He  can  tell  you're  frightened." 

The  agitated  music  ceased. 

Then  the  woman  walked  to  the  farthest  side  of 
the  inclosure.  In  doing  so  she  was  obliged  to  pass 
the  crouching  form  of  Hercules,  but  she  pretended 
not  to  know  he  was  there;  she  moved  slowly  back 
ward,  always  facing  Samson. 

At  last  the  vertical  bars  prevented  farther  re 
treat.  Then  she  lifted  her  hand  slowly,  steadily, 
and  drew  off  her  crimson  mask.  It  dropped  at  her 
feet.  Despite  the  muffled  street-noises  that  never 
ceased  to  rumble  from  afar,  the  whispering 
sound  of  the  silken  mask,  as  it  struck  the  plank 
floor  of  the  cage,  was  distinctly  audible. 

"  Grace !  "  Gregory  whispered  in  horror,  — "  it's 
Fran !  " 

Grace  started  from  his  embrace  at  the  name  and 
glared  down  upon  the  stage.  She  sat  erect,  un 
supported,  petrified. 


356  FRAN 

Gregory's  brow  was  moistened  with  a  chilled 
dew.  "It's  Fran,"  he  mumbled,  "it's  Fran! 
Grace  —  pray  for  her !  " 

Fran  looked  Samson  steadily  in  the  eyes,  and 
Samson  glared  back  fixedly.  For  a  few  moments, 
this  quiver  between  life  and  death  remained  at  the 
breaking-point.  Had  a  stranger  at  that  moment 
looked  under  the  tent-entrance,  he  might  have 
thought  everybody  asleep.  There  was  neither 
sound  nor  movement. 

Grace  whispered  — "  It  is  the  hand  of  God !  " 

Her  tone  was  almost  inaudible,  but  Gregory 
shrank  as  from  a  mortal  blow;  its  sinister  meaning 
was  unmistakable.  Swiftly  he  turned  to  stare  at 
her. 

In  Grace's  eyes  was  a  wild  and  ominous  glare 
akin  to  that  of  the  threatening  lion.  It  was  a  sav 
age  conviction  that  Fran  was  at  last  confronted  by 
the  justice  of  Heaven. 

Suddenly  Fran  crouched  forward  till  her  head 
was  almost  on  a  level  with  her  waist,  in  so  much 
that  it  was  a  physical  exertion  to  hold  her  face 
uplifted.  In  this  sinuous  position  she  was  the  em 
bodiment  of  power.  If  she  felt  misgivings  con 
cerning  this  last  resource,  there  was  no  look  to 


THE  CONQUEROR  357 

betray  it.  Straight  toward  Samson  she  rushed, 
her  body  lithe  and  serpentine,  her  direction  unerr 
ing. 

To  the  beast,  Fran  had  become  one  of  those 
mysterious  flying  serpents  which  bite  from  afar. 
He  felt  the  sting  of  her  terrible  eyes  and  his  gaze 
grew  shifty.  It  wandered  away,  and,  on  return 
ing,  found  her  teeth  bared,  as  if  feeling  for  his 
heart. 

Rushing  up  to  his  very  face — "Samson!"  she 
cried,  impellingly. 

Again  he  seemed  to  feel  the  lash  upon  his  tawny 
skin. 

"  Samson.     Up,   Samson,  up,   Samson  —  UP !  " 

Suddenly  Samson  wheeled  about,  and  leaped 
upon  the  table. 

Fran  stamped  her  foot  at  the  other  lion.  "  Go 
to  your  place,  Hercules !  "  she  cried,  with  some 
thing  like  contempt. 

Hercules  slowly  rose,  stretched  himself,  then 
marched  to  his  box.  He  looked  from  Fran  to  the 
immovable  Samson  waiting  upon  the  table,  then 
mounted  to  his  place,  and  seemed  to  fall  asleep. 

And  now,  at  last,  Fran  looked  at  the  spectators. 
Stepping  lightly  to  the  bars,  she  threw  kisses  this 


358  FRAN 

way  and  that,  smiling  radiantly.  "Oh!"  she 
cried,  with  vibrating  earnestness,  "  you  people  out 
there  —  you  can't  think  how  I  love  you !  You've 
saved  my  life.  You  are  perfect  heroes.  Now 
make  all  the  noise  you  please." 

"  May  we  move?  "  called  a  cautious  voice  from  a 
few  feet  away.  It  was  Abbott  Ashton,  with  eyes 
like  stars. 

Fran  looked  at  him,  wondering  at  his  thoughts. 
She  answered  by  an  upward  movement  of  her  hand. 

As  though  by  a  carefully  rehearsed  arrange 
ment,  the  audience  rose  to  its  feet,  band  boys  and 
all.  Such  a  shout!  Such  waving  of  hats  and 
handkerchiefs!  Such  unabashed  sobs!  Such  in 
articulateness  —  such  graspings  of  neighboring 
hands!  The  spectators  had  gone  mad  with  joyful 
relief. 

Fran  leaped  upon  the  table,  and  mounted  Sam 
son. 

"  Now,  I'm  a  Rough-Rider!  "  she  shouted,  bury 
ing  her  hands  in  the  mane,  and  lying  along  the 
lion's  back  in  true  cow-boy  fashion.  She  plunged, 
she  shouted  loudly,  but  Samson  only  closed  his  eyes 
and  seemed  to  sleep. 

After   that,    making    the    lions    return    to    their 


THE  CONQUEROR  359 

cramped  side-cages  was  a  mere  detail.  The  show 
was  ended. 

Fran,  remaining  in  the  empty  cage,  stood  at  the 
front,  projecting  her  hand  through  the  bars  to  re 
ceive  the  greetings  of  the  crowd.  Almost  every 
one  wanted  to  shake  hands  with  her.  They 
couldn't  tell  of  their  surprise  over  her  identity,  of 
their  admiration  for  her  courage,  of  their  joy  at 
her  safety.  They  could  do  nothing  but  look  into 
her  eyes,  press  her  hand,  then  go  into  a  humdrum 
world  in  which  are  no  lions  —  and  not  many  Frans. 

"  Look,  look !  "  Simon  Jefferson  suddenly  grasped 
Robert  Clinton's  hand,  and  pointed  toward  the 
tent-roof.  "  There  they  are !  " 

Something  very  strange  had  happened  up  there, 
but  it  was  lost  to  Clinton's  keen  jealous  gaze  — 
one  of  those  happenings  in  the  soul,  which,  how 
ever  momentous,  passes  unobserved  in  the  midst 
of  the  throng. 

"  Not  so  fast ! "  Grace  cautioned  Gregory. 
"  We  must  wait  up  here  till  the  very  last  —  don't 
you  see  Mr.  Clinton?  And  Simon  Jefferson  is 
now  pointing  us  out.  We  can't  go  down  that 
way  — " 

"  We!  "  Gregory  harshly  echoed.     "  We !    I  have 


360  FRAN 

nothing  to  do  with  you,  Grace  Noir.  Go  to  him,  if 
you  will." 

Grace  turned  ashen  pale.  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?  "  she  stammered.  "  You  tell  me  to  go  to 
Mr.  Clinton?" 

"  I  tell  you  to  go  where  you  please.  That  girl 
yonder  is  my  daughter,  do  you  understand? 
Don't  hold  me  back!  I  shall  go  to  her  and  pro 
claim  her  as  my  child  to  the  world.  Do  you  hear 
me  ?  That's  my  Fran !  " 

Grace  shrank  back  in  the  suspicion  that  Hamil 
ton  Gregory  had  gone  mad  like  the  rest  of  the 
crowd.  "  Do  you  mean  that  you  never  want  to  see 
me  again?  Do  you  mean  that  you  want  me  to 
marry  Mr.  Clinton  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  care  what  you  do,"  he  said,  still  more 
roughly. 

"  You  do  not  care?  "  she  stammered,  bewildered. 
"  What  has  happened  ?  You  do  not  care  —  for 
me?" 

She  looked  deep  into  his  eyes,  but  found  no  in 
cense  burning  there.  The  shrine  was  cold. 

"Mr.  Gregory!  And  after  all  that  has  passed 
between  us?  After  I  have  given  you  my  —  my 
self—" 


THE  CONQUEROR  361 

Gregory  seized  her  arm,  as  if  to  hold  her  off. 
His  eyes  were  burning  dangerously :  "  I  saw  mur 
der  in  your  heart  while  you  were  watching  Fran," 
he  whispered  fiercely.  "  That's  my  daughter,  do 
you  understand?  I  know  you  now,  I  know  you 
now.  .  .  ."  He  stumbled  down  the  steps, 
pushing  out  of  his  way  those  who  opposed  his 
progress. 

Grace  stared  after  him  with  bloodless  cheeks  and 
smoldering  eyes.  Clearly,  she  decided,  the  sight 
of  Fran's  fearful  danger  had  unbalanced  his  mind. 
But  how  could  he  care  so  much  about  that  Fran? 
And  how  could  he  leave  her,  knowing  that  Robert 
Clinton  was  beginning  to  climb  upward  with  eyes 
fastened  upon  her  face? 

But  it  was  not  the  sight  of  Fran's  danger  that 
had  for  ever  alienated  Gregory  from  Grace  Noir. 
In  an  instant,  she  had  stood  revealed  to  him  as  an 
unlovely  monster.  His  sensitive  nature,  always 
abnormally  alive  to  outward  impressions,  had 
thrilled  responsively  to  the  exultation  of  the  audi 
ence.  He  had  endured  the  agony  of  suspense,  he 
had  shared  the  universal  enthusiasm.  If,  in  a 
sense,  he  was  a  series  of  moods,  each  the  result  of 
blind  impulse,  it  so  happened  that  Grace's  hiss  — 


362  FRAN 

"  It's  the  hand  of  God,"  turned  his  love  to  aver 
sion;  she  was  appealing  as  a  justification  of  per 
sonal  hatred,  to  the  God  they  were  both  betraying. 

Grace  began  to  tremble  as  she  watched  Robert 
Clinton  coming  up,  and  Hamilton  Gregory  de 
scending.  She  had  trusted  foolishly  to  a  broken 
reed,  but  it  was  not  too  late  to  preserve  the  good 
name  she  had  been  about  to  besmirch.  The  furnace- 
heat  in  which  rash  resolves  are  forged,  was  cooled. 
Gregory  had  deserted  Fran's  mother;  he  was  false 
to  Mrs.  Gregory;  he  would  perhaps  have  betrayed 
Grace  in  the  end;  but  Clinton  was  at  hand,  and  his 
adoration  would  endure. 

In  the  meantime,  the  voice  of  Fran  was  to  be 
heard  above  that  of  the  happy  crowd :  "I  love  you 
all.  You  helped  me  do  it.  I  should  certainly 
have  been  mangled  but  for  you  perfect  heroes. 
Yes,  thank  you.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  feel  fine.  .  .  . 
And,  oh,  men  and  women,  I  could  just  feel  your 
spirits  holding  mine  up  till  I  was  so  high  —  I  was 
in  the  clouds.  That's  what  subdued  Samson.  He 
knew  I  wasn't  afraid.  He  knew  hi  And  I  wanted 
to  win  out  for  your  sakes  as  well  as  my  own — • 
yes  I  did!  Thank  you  men.  .  .  .  Thank 
you,  women.  .  .  .  Well,  if  here  aren't  the 


THE  CONQUEROR  363 

children,   too  —  bless  your   brave   hearts!     . 

And  is  that  your  baby?     My  goodness,  and  what  a 

baby  it  is !     .     .     .     No,  I'm  not  a  bit  tired  - 

She  stopped  suddenly,  on  feeling  a  crushing  grip. 
She  looked  down,  a  frown  forming  on  her  brow, 
but  the  sun  shone  clear  when  she  saw  Abbott  Ash- 
ton.  She  gave  him  a  swift  look,  as  if  to  penetrate 
his  inmost  thoughts. 

He  met  her  eyes  unfalteringly.  "  It's  already 
nine  o'clock,"  he  said  with  singular  composure. 
"  Don't  forget  nine-thirty." 

Then  he  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

Fran  saw  the  ranks  thinning  before  her.  She 
was  glad,  for  suddenly  she  found  herself  very 
tired.  What  would  Abbott  think?  Would  he, 
henceforth,  see  nothing  but  the  show-girl  of  tinsel 
and  trainer's  whip,  for  ever  showing  through  the 
clear  glass  of  her  real  self?  At  nine-thirty,  what 
would  Abbott  say  to  her?  and  how  should  she  re 
ply?  The  thought  of  him  obscured  her  vision  of 
admiring  faces.  Her  manner  lost  its  spontaneity. 

Then,  to  her  amazement,  she  beheld  Hamilton 
Gregory  stumbling  toward  her,  looking  neither  to 
right  nor  left,  seeing  none  but  her  —  Hamilton 
Gregory  at  a  show !  Hamilton  Gregory  here,  of 


364  FRAN 

all  places,  his  eyes  wide,  his  head  thrown  back  as  if 
to  bare  his  face  to  her  startled  gaze. 

"  Fran ! "  cried  Gregory,  thrusting  forth  his 
arms  to  take  her  hands.  "  Fran !  Even  now,  the 
bars  divide  us.  But  oh,  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad  — 
and  God  answered  my  prayer  and  saved  you,  Fran 
—  my  daughter!  " 


NEAR  THE  SKY 

TT  was  half -past  nine  when  Abbott  met  Fran,  ac 
cording  to  appointment,  before  the  Snake  Den. 
From  her  hands  she  had  removed  the  color  of 
Italy,  and  from  her  body,  the  glittering  raiment  of 
La  Gonizetti. 

Fran  came  up  to  the  young  man  from  out  the 
crowded  street,  all  quivering  excitement.  In  con 
trast  with  the  pulsing  life  that  ceaselessly  changed 
her  face,  as  from  reflections  of  dancing  light-points, 
his  composure  showed  almost  grotesque. 

"  Here  I  am,"  she  panted,  shooting  a  quizzical 
glance  at  his  face,  "  are  you  ready  for  me  ?  Come 
on,  then,  and  I'll  show  you  the  very  place  for  us." 

Abbott  inquired  serenely,  "  Down  there  in  the 
Den?" 

Fran  scrutinized  him  anew,  always  wondering 
how  he  had  taken  the  lions.  What  she  saw  did 
not  alarm  her. 

365 


366  FRAN 

"  No,"  she  returned,  "  not  in  the  Den.  You're 
no  Daniel,  if  I  am  a  Charmer.  No  dens  for  us." 

"Nor  lion-cages?"  inquired  Abbott,  still  in 
scrutable;  "  never  again?  " 

"  Never  again,"  came  her  response ;  it  was  a 
promise. 

As  they  made  their  way  through  the  noisy  "  city 
square  "  she  kept  on  wondering.  Since  his  face 
revealed  nothing,  his  disapproval,  at  any  rate,  was 
not  so  great  as  to  be  beyond  control.  Did  that 
signify  that  he  did  not  feel  enough  for  her  really 
to  care?  Better  for  him  to  be  angry  about  the 
show,  than  not  to  care. 

Fran  stopped  before  the  Ferris  Wheel. 

"  Let's  take  a  ride,"  she  said,  a  little  tremulously. 
"  Won't  need  tickets.  Bill,  stop  the  wheel ;  I  want 
to  go  right  up.  This  is  a  friend  of  mine  —  Mr. 
Ashton.  And  Abbott,  this  is  an  older  friend  than 
you  —  Mr.  Bill  Smookins." 

Mr.  Bill  Smookins  was  an  exceedingly  hard- 
featured  man,  of  no  recognizable  age.  Externally, 
he  was  blue  overalls  and  greasy  tar. 

Abbott  grasped  Bill's  hand,  and  inquired  about 
business. 

"  Awful   pore,   sense  Fran  lef  the  show,"  was 


NEAR  THE  SKY  367 

the  answer,  accompanied  by  a  grin  that  threatened 
to  cut  the  weather-beaten  face  wide  open. 

Fran  beamed.  "  Mr.  Smookins  knew  my  mother 
—  didn't  you,  Bill?  He  was  awful  good  to 
me  when  I  was  a  kid.  Mr.  Smookins  was  a  Hu 
man  Nymph  in  those  days,  and  he  smoked  and 
talked,  he  did,  right  down  under  the  water  —  re 
member,  Bill?  That  was  sure-enough  water  —  oh, 
he's  a  sure-enough  Bill,  let  me  tell  you!  " 

Bill  intimated,  as  he  slowed  down  the  engine, 
that  the  rheumatism  he  had  acquired  under  the 
water,  was  sure-enough  rheumatism  —  hence  his 
change  of  occupation.  "  I  was  strong  enough  to 
be  a  Human  Nymph,"  he  explained,  "  but  not  en 
durable.  Nobody  can't  last  many  years  as  a  Hu 
man  Nymph." 

Abbott  indicated  his  companion  — "  Here's  one 
that'll  last  my  time." 

The  wheel  stopped.  He  and  Fran  were  barred 
into  a  seat. 

"  And  now,"  Fran  exclaimed,  "  it's  all  ups  and 
downs,  just  like  a  moving-picture  of  life.  Why 
don't  yon  say  something,  Mr.  Ashton?  But  no, 
you  can  keep  still  —  I'm  excited  to  death,  and 
wouldn't  hear  you  anyway.  I  want  to  do  all  the 


368  FRAN 

talking  —  I  always  do,  after  I've  been  in  the  cage. 
My  brain  is  filled  with  air  —  so  this  is  the  time  to 
be  soaring  up  into  the  sky,  isn't  it!  What  is  your 
brained  filled  with  ?  —  but  never  mind.  We'll  be 
just  two  balloons  —  my !  aren't  you  glad  we  haven't 
any  strings  on  us  —  suppose  some  people  had 
hold !  —  I,  for  one,  would  be  willing  never  to  go 
down  again.  Where  are  the  clouds  ?  —  Wish  we 
could  meet  a  few.  Down  there  on  the  solid  earth 
—  oh,  down  there  the  first  things  you  meet  are  rea 
sons  for  things,  and  people's  opinions  of  how  things 
look,  and  reports  of  what  folks  say.  And  up  here, 
there's  nothing  but  the  moon  —  isn't  it  bright ! 
See  how  I'm  trembling  —  always  do,  after  the 
lions.  Now,  Abbott,  I'll  leave  a  small  opening  for 
just  one  word  — 

"  I'll  steady  you,"  said  Abbott,  briefly,  and  he 
took  her  hand.  She  did  not  appear  conscious  of 
his  protecting  clasp. 

"  I  never  see  the  moon  so  big,"  she  went  on, 
breathlessly,  "  without  thinking  of  that  night  when 
it  rolled  along  the  pasture  as  if  it  wanted  to  knock 
us  off  the  foot-bridge  for  being  where  we  oughtn't. 
I  never  could  understand  why  you  would  stay  on 
that  bridge  with  a  perfect  stranger,  when  your  duty 


NEAR  THE  SKY  369 

was  to  be  usher  at  the  camp-meeting !     You  weren't 
ushering  me,  you  know,  you  were  holding  my  hand 

—  I  mean,  I  was  holding  your  hand,  as  Miss  Sap- 
phira  says  I  shouldn't.     What  a  poor  helpless  man 

—  as   I'm  holding  you  now,    I   presume!     But   I 
laughed  in  meeting.     People  ought  to  go  outdoors 
to  smile,  and  keep  their  religion  in  a  house,  I  guess. 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  why  I  laughed,   for  you've 
never  guessed,  and  you've  always  been  afraid  to 
ask—" 

"Afraid  of  you,  Fran?" 

"  Awfully,  I'm  going  to  show  you  —  let  go,  so 
I  can  show  you.  No,  I'm  in  earnest  —  you  can 
have  me,  afterwards.  .  .  .  Remember  that 
evangelist?  There  he  stood,  waving  his  hands  — 
as  I'm  doing  now  —  moving  his  arms  with  his  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  congregation  —  this  way  —  look, 
Abbott." 

"Fran!     As  if  I  were  not  already  looking." 

"Look  —  just  so;  not  saying  a  word  —  only 
waving  this  way  and  that.  .  .  .  And  it  made 
me  think  of  our  Hypnotizer  —  the  man  that  waves 
people  into  our  biggest  tent  —  he  seems  to  pick 
'em  up  bodily  and  carry  them  in  his  arms.  Well ! 
And  if  the  people  are  to  be  waved  into  a  church,  it 


370  FRAN 

won't  take  much  of  a  breeze  to  blow  them  out.  I 
don't  believe  in  soul-waving.  But  that  doesn't 
mean  that  I  don't  believe  in  the  church  —  does  it  ? 

—  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  You  believe  in  convictions,  Fran.  And  since 
you've  come  into  the  church,  you  don't  have  to  say 
that  you  believe  in  it." 

"  Yes  —  there's  nothing  on  the  outside,  and  oh, 
sometimes  there's  so  little,  so  little  under  the  roof 

—  what  do  you  think  of  me,  Abbott?  " 
"  Fran,  I  think  you  are  the  most  — 

"  But  do  you !  "  she  interposed,  still  unsteadily. 
"  In  the  superlative  ?  I  don't  see  how  you  can, 
after  that  exhibition  behind  the  bars.  Anyway,  I 
want  you  to  talk  about  yourself.  What  made  you 
go  away  from  town  ?  But  that's  not  the  worst : 
what  made  you  stay  away?  And  what  were  you 
doing  off  there  wherever  it  was,  while  poor  little 
girls  were  wondering  themselves  sick  about  you? 
But  wait !  —  the  wheel's  going  down  —  down  — • 
down.  .  .  .  Good  thing  I  have  you  to  hold  to 

—  poor  Miss  Sapphira,  she  can't  come,  now!     Lis 
ten  at  all  the  street-criers,  getting  closer,  and  the 
whistle-sounds  —  I    wish    we    had    whistles ;    the 
squawky  kind.     See  my  element,   Abbott,  the   air 


NEAR  THE  SKY  371 

I've  breathed  all  my  life  —  the  carnival.  Here  we 
are,  just  above  the  clouds  of  confetti. 
Now  we're  riding  through.  .  .  .  pretty  damp, 
these  clouds  are,  don't  you  think!  Those  ribbons 
of  electric  lights  have  been  the  real  world  for  me. 
Abbott  —  they  were  home.  .  .  .  No,  Bill,  we 
don't  want  to  get  out.  We  intend  to  ride  until  you 
take  this  wheel  to  pieces.  And  oh,  by  the  way, 
Bill  —  just  stop  this  wheel,  every  once  in  a  while, 
will  you  ?  —  when  we're  up  at  the  very  tiptop.  All 
right  —  good-by." 

And  Abbott  called  gaily,  "  Good-by,  Mr.  Smook- 
ins !  " 

"I'm  glad  you  did  that,  Abbott.  You  think 
you're  somebody,  when  somebody  else  thinks  so, 
too.  Now  we're  rising  in  the  world."  Fran  was 
so  excited  that  she  could  not  keep  her  body 
from  quivering.  In  spite  of  this,  she  fastened  her 
eyes  upon  Abbott  to  ask,  suddenly,  "  '  Most ' — 
what?" 

"  Most  adorable,"  Abbott  answered,  as  if  he  had 
been  waiting  for  the  prompting.  "  Most  precious. 
Most  bewitchingly  sweet.  Most  unanswerably  and 
eternally  —  Fran! " 

"  And  you  — "  she  whispered. 


372  FRAN 

"  And  I,"  he  told  her,  "  am  nothing  but  most 
wanting-to-be-loved." 

"  It's  so  queer,"  Fran  said,  plaintively.  "  You 
know,  Abbott,  how  long  you've  fought  against  me. 
You  know  it,  and  I  don't  blame  you,  not  in  the  least. 
There's  nothing  about  me  to  make  people.  .  .  . 
But  even  now,  how  can  you  think  you  understand 
me,  when  I  don't  understand  myself?  " 

"  I  don't,"  he  said,  promptly.  "  I've  given  up 
trying  to  understand  you.  Since  then,  I've  just 
loved.  That's  easy." 

"  What  will  people  think  of  a  superintendent  of 
public  schools  caring  for  a  show-girl,  even  if  she  is 
Fran  Nonpareil.  How  would  it  affect  your  ca 
reer?" 

"  But  you  have  promised  never  again  to  engage 
in  a  show,  so  you  are  not  a  show-girl." 

"  What  about  my  mother  who  lived  and  died  as 
a  lion-tamer?  What  will  you  do  about  my  life- 
history?  I'd  never  speak  to  a  man  who  could  feel 
ashamed  of  my  mother.  What  about  my  father 
who  has  never  publicly  acknowledged  me?  I'd  not 
want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  a  man  who  — ' 
who  could  be  proud  of  him." 

"  As  to  the  past,  Fran,  I  have  only  this  to  say : 


NEAR  THE  SKY  373 

whatever  hardships  it  contained,  whatever  wrongs 
or  wretchedness  —  it  evolved  you,  you,  the  Fran 
of  to-day  —  the  Fran  of  this  living  hour.  And  it's 
the  Fran  of  this  living  hour  that  I  want  to  marry." 

Fran  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  For 
a  while  there  was  silence,  then  she  said : 

"  Father  was  there,  to-night." 

"  At  the  lion-show  ?  Impossible !  Mr.  Gregory 
go  to  a  —  a  —  to  —  a  — " 

"  Yes,  it  is  possible  for  him  even  to  go  to  a 
show.  But  to  do  him  justice,  he  was  forced  under 
the  tent,  he  had  no  intention  of  doing  anything 
so  wicked  as  that,  he  only  meant  to  do  some  little 
thing  like  running  away  —  But  no,  I  can't  speak 
of  him  with  bitterness,  now.  Abbott,  he  seems  all 
changed." 

Abbott  murmured,  as  if  stupefied,  "  Mr.  Gregory 
at  a  show !  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  lion-*show.  When  it  was  over  he 
came  to  me  —  he  was  so  excited  — " 

"  So  was  I,"  spoke  up  the  other  — "  rather !  " 

"  You  didn't  show  it.  I  thought  maybe  you 
wouldn't  care  if  I  had  been  eaten  up.  ...  No, 
no,  listen.  He  wanted  to  claim  me  —  he  called  me 
*  daughter '  right  there  before  the  people,  but  they 


374  FRAN 

thought  it  was  just  a  sort  of  —  of  church  name. 
But  he  was  wonderfully  moved.  I  left  the  tent 
with  him,  and  we  had  a  long  talk  —  I  came  from 
him  to  you.  I  never  saw  anybody  so  changed." 

"But  why?" 

"  You  see,  he  thought  I  was  going  to  be  killed 
right  there  before  his  eyes,  and  seeing  it  with  his 
very  own  eyes  made  him  feel  responsible.  He  told 
me,  afterwards,  that  when  he  found  out  who  it 
was  in  the  cage,  he  thought  of  mother  in  a  different 
way, —  he  saw  how  his  desertion  had  driven  her  to 
earning  her  living  writh  showmen,  so  I  could  be 
supported.  All  in  all,  he  is  a  changed  man." 

"  Then  will  he  acknowledge  you  ?  —  but  no,  no, 

» 

"You  see?  He  can't,  on  account  of  Mrs.  Greg 
ory.  There's  no  future  for  him,  or  for  her,  except 
to  go  on  living  as  man  and  wife  —  without  the  sec 
retary.  He  imagines  it  would  be  a  sort  of  repara 
tion  to  present  me  to  the  world  as  his  daughter,  he 
thinks  it  would  give  him  happiness  —  but  it  can't 
be.  Grace  Noir  has  found  it  all  out  - 

"  Then  she  will  tell !  "  Abbott  exclaimed,  in  dis 
may. 

"  She  would  have  told  but  for  one  thing.     She 


NEAR  THE  SKY  375 

doesn't  dare,  and  it's  on  her  own  account  —  of 
course.  She  has  been  terribly  —  well,  indiscreet. 
You  can't  think  to  what  lengths  she  was  willing  to 
go  —  not  from  coldly  making  up  her  mind,  but  be 
cause  she  lost  grip  on  herself,  from  always  think 
ing  she  couldn't.  So  she  went  away  with  Bob 
Clinton  —  she'll  marry  him,  and  they'll  go  to  Chi 
cago,  out  of  Littleburg  history  —  poor  Bob!  Re 
member  the  night  he  was  trying  to  get  religion? 
I'm  afraid  he'll  conclude  that  religion  isn't  what  he 
thought  it  was,  living  so  close  to  it  from  now 
on." 

"  All  this  interests  me  greatly,  dear,  because  it 
interests  you.  Still,  it  doesn't  bear  upon  the  main 
question." 

"  Abbott,  you  don't  know  why  I  went  to  that 
show  to  act.  You  thought  I  was  caring  for  a  sick 
friend.  What  do  you  think  of  such  deceptions?" 

"  I  think  I  understand.  Simon  Jefferson  told 
me  of  a  girl  falling  from  a  trapeze ;  it  was  possibly 
La  Gonizetti's  daughter.  Mrs.  Jefferson  told  me 
that  Mrs.  Gregory  is  nursing  some  one.  The  same 
one,  I  imagine.  And  La  Gonizetti  was  a  friend  of 
yours,  and  you  took  her  place,  so  the  mother  could 
stay  with  the  injured  daughter." 


376  FRAN 

"  You're  a  wonder,  yourself !  "  Fran  declared, 
dropping  her  hands  to  stare  at  him.  "  Yes,  that's 
it.  All  these  show-people  are  friends  of  mine. 
.When  the  mayor  was  trying  to  decide  what  carni 
val  company  they'd  have  for  the  street  fair,  I  told 
him  about  this  show,  and  that's  why  it's  here.  Poor 
La  Gonizetti  needs  the  money  dreadfully  —  for 
they  spend  it  as  fast  as  it's  paid  in.  The  little 
darling  will  have  to  go  to  a  hospital,  and  there's 
nothing  laid  by.  The  boys  all  threw  in,  but  they 
didn't  have  much,  themselves.  Nobody  has. 
Everybody's  poor  in  this  old  world  —  except  you 
and  me.  I've  taken  La  Gonizetti's  place  in  the 
cage  all  day  to  keep  her  from  losing  out;  and  if 
this  wasn't  the  last  day,  I  don't  know  whether  I'd 
have  promised  you  or  not.  .  .  .  Samson  was 
pretty  good,  but  that  mask  annoyed  him.  So  you 
see  —  but  honestly,  Abbott,  doesn't  all  this  make 
you  feel  just  a  wee  bit  different  about  me?" 

"  It  makes  me  want  to  kiss  you,  Fran." 

"  It  makes  you  " —  she  gasped  — "  want  to  do  - 
that?     Why,  Abbott!     Nothing  can  save  you." 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  he  agreed. 

The  car  was  swinging  at  the  highest  reach  of 
the  wheel.  The  engine  stopped. 


NEAR  THE  SKY  377 

She  opened  her  eyes  very  wide.  "  I'd  think 
you'd  be  afraid  of  such  a  world-famous  lion- 
trainer,"  she  declared,  drawing  back.  "  Some  have 
been,  I  assure  you." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  Abbott  declared,  drawing  her 
toward  him.  He  would  have  kissed  her,  but  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  bent  her  head 
instinctively. 

"  Up!  "  cried  Abbott.     "  Up,  Samson,  up!  " 

Fran  laughed  hilariously,  and  lifted  her  head. 
She  looked  at  him  through  her  fingers.  Her  face 
was  a  garden  of  blush-roses.  She  pretended  to 
roar  but  the  result  was  not  terrifying;  then  she 
obediently  held  up  her  mouth. 

"  After  all,"  said  Fran,  speaking  somewhat  in 
distinctly,  "  you  haven't  told  why  you  ran  away  to 
leave  poor  Fran  guessing  where  you'd  gone.  Do 
you  know  how  I  love  you,  Abbott  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  know." 

"  I'm  glad  —  for  I  could  never  tell  you.  Real 
love  is  like  real  religion  —  you  can't  talk  about  it. 
Makes  you  want  to  joke,  even  if  you  can't  think 
of  anything  funny  to  say — makes  you  chatter  about 
anything  else,  or  just  keep  still.  Seems  to  be  some 
thing  down  here  —  this  is  my  heart,  isn't  it  ?  —  hope 


378  FRAN 

I  have  the  right  place,  I  left  school  so  early  —  seems 
even  when  I  refer  to  it  I  ought  to  —  well,  as  I  said, 
make  a  sort  of  joke.  .  .  ." 

"  But  this  is  no  joke,"  said  Abbott,  kissing  her 
again. 

"  Yes,"  said  Fran,  happily,  "  we  can  talk  about  it 
in  that  way.  Isn't  Bill  Smookins  a  dear  to  keep  us 
up  here  so  long?  " 

It  was  a  good  while  later  that  Abbott  said,  "  As 
to  why  I  left  Littleburg:  Bob  knew  of  a  private 
school  that  has  just  been  incorporated  as  a  college. 
A  teacher's  needed,  one  with  ideas  of  the  new  edu 
cation  —  the  education  that  teaches  us  how  to  make 
books  useful  to  life,  and  not  life  to  books  —  the 
education  that  teaches  happiness  as  well  as  words 
and  figures;  just  the  kind  that  you  didn't  find  at 
my  school,  little  rebel !  Bob  was  an  old  chum  of 
the  man  who  owns  the  property  so  he  recommended 
me,  and  I  went.  It's  a  great  chance,  a  magnificent 
opening.  The  man  was  so  pleased  with  the  way  I 
talked  —  he's  new  to  the  business,  so  that  must  be 
his  excuse  —  that  I  am  to  be  the  president." 

Fran's  voice  came  rather  faintly  — "  Hurrah ! 
But  you  are  to  be  far,  far  above  my  reach,  just 
as  I  prophesied.  Don't  you  remember  what  I  said 


'NEAR  THE  SKY  379 

to  you  during  our  drive  through  Sure-Enough 
Country?" 

"  And  that  isn't  all,"  said  Abbott,  looking  straight 
before  him,  and  pretending  that  he  had  not  heard. 
"  In  that  town  —  Tahlelah,  Oklahoma  —  I  disc6v- 
ered,  out  in  the  suburbs,  a  cottage  —  the  dearest 
little  thing  —  as  dear  as  ...  as  Mr.  Smook- 
ins ;  just  big  enough  for  a  girl  like  Fran.  I  rented 
it  at  once  —  of  course,  it  oughtn't  to  be  standing 
there  idle  —  there's  such  a  fragrant  flower-garden 
—  I  spent  some  time  arranging  the  grounds  as  I 
think  you'll  like  them.  I  didn't  furnish  the  cot 
tage,  though.  Women  always  like  to  select  their 
own  carpets  and  things,  and  — " 

Fran's  face  was  a  dimpled  sea  of  pink  and  crim* 
son  waves,  with  starry  lights  in  her  black  eyes  for 
signal-lights.  "  Oh,  you  king  of  hearts !  "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  And  shall  we  have  a  church  wedding, 
and  just  kill  'em?" 

Abbott  laughed  boyishly.  "  No  —  you  must  re 
member  that  your  connection  with  show-life  is  at 
an  end." 

"  But  —  and  then  —  and  so,"  cried  Fran  raptur 
ously,  "  I'm  to  have  a  home  after  all,  with  flower- 
gardens  and  carpets  and  things  —  a  sure-enough 


380  FRAN 

home  —  Abbott,  a  home  with  you!  Don't  you 
know,  it's  been  the  dream  of  my  life  to  —  to  — 

Abbott  was  inexpressibly  touched.  "  Yes,  I  was 
just  thinking  of  what  I  heard  you  say,  once  —  to 
belong  to  somebody." 

Fran  slipped  her  arms  about  his  neck.  "  And 
what  a  somebody!  To  belong  to  you.  And  to 
know  that  my  home  is  our  home.  .  .  ." 

Abbott,  with  a  sober  sense  of  his  un worthiness, 
embraced  her  silently. 

From  far  below  came  a  sudden  sound,  making 
its  way  through  the  continuity  of  the  street-uproar. 
It  was  the  chugging  of  the  engine. 

The  wheel  began  to  revolve. 

Down  they  came  —  down  —  down  — 

Fran  looked  up  at  the  moon.  "  Good-by,"  she 
called,  gaily.  "  The  world  is  good  enough  for 
me!" 


THE  END 


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